Discovering Terror
by Yesm777
Summary: When a stranger breaks into the garage at a late hour, Walter finds himself held captive and violently interrogated by the intruder. Can he endure the attack? And if he manages to escape, will he ever be the same? Walter whump and trigger warnings inside.
1. An Unexpected Visitor

_Author's Note: Alas, I have taken on seriously whumping Walter. It's been on my mind for awhile, as I'm often drawn to holes that need to be filled. Frankly, I feel like there just isn't enough Walter whump around here. I do apologize if Walter is a bit OOC; considering the normally light nature of the show, this posed an unusual situation for me. However, I wasn't willing to let it go. So, fellow humans, go forth. It is one of my darker tales, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. As always, please review if you've got a moment._

 ** _Trigger Warning: Torture, human suffering_**

 **1\. An Unexpected Visitor**

Walter sighed as he stared down at his desk. It was late, and he was alone in the garage, doing some thinking in his down time. As much as he valued his team, he appreciated the silence in the dark hours of the night. It was the best time to ponder possible solutions to his sister's illness.

Dating Sylvester, she'd been so much happier as of late. It sometimes made it difficult to recognize how little time she had left, but Walter didn't forget. He would never forget.

Sighing heavily, he dropped into his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. When he thought he was making headway in his research, he'd hit a snag, and he'd realize he hadn't truly made much progress at all. He was growing steadily frustrated, his confidence in his own abilities strangely diminished. It wasn't often he questioned his own aptitude, but—somehow—her illness was getting to him.

His head flicked up as the door burst open, banging loudly against the wall. Walter shot up from his seat as a man clad in black slid inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The stranger's eyes met Walter's, dark and furious in the dim light. Something about the way he looked at Walter…it left the genius a little uneasy.

Sensing a threat, Walter held his hands up in surrender. "May I…assist you?" he asked calmly, his eyes still connected to the stranger's gaze.

"They'll never find me," the man grumbled, his posture stiff and crouched as he swiftly locked the door. Walter watched him carefully, quickly picking up signs of dangerous behavior. He glanced around at the desks, trying to think of way out without further agitating the man.

There was a familiar click as Walter flicked his gaze back to the stranger, swallowing thickly when his eyes fell on the gun. He assumed it was loaded, and it was aimed straight at his head.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're referring to," Walter muttered, stiffening a little as the man moved slowly towards him.

"They won't find me," the stranger spat, a dark look shadowing his face. "I won't let them."

Walter's brow furrowed a little, careful not to move much in the face of a gun. "Who?"

"You're helping them," the man growled. "I've seen them. You're helping them, and I won't let you."

Walter shook his head slowly, staring at the intruder warily. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"You're lying!" the man screamed, surging forward to press the gun to Walter's chest. "I've seen them and you've been helping them."

Walter frowned, ignoring the frantic beat of his heart. He didn't get scared. Fear only made you do stupid things. Walter didn't do stupid things. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Liar!" the man screeched, shoving Walter into the chair he'd just vacated. Walter quickly combed through his memories to try and understand the situation, but came up empty. He was puzzled by the entire experience, looking for clues as to why this stranger would come to _the team's_ garage and who he thought was looking for him.

The intruder slung a backpack off his shoulder, still keeping his gun trained on Walter. Walter watched him carefully as the man unzipped the pack, digging through the contents.

Then he pulled out a roll of duct tape.

Quickly realizing what was happening, Walter hurriedly glanced at the nearest exits. He'd run out of time, and he had no proper plan in place. There was nothing for it now, and Walter knew that if he stayed here, the outcome would be less than favorable.

Without a second thought, he bolted for the door, hoping to catch the intruder off guard. He hadn't made it ten feet before arms wrapped around his legs and sent him crashing to the concrete floor.

Walter attempted to pull himself free, only to feel strong hands grappling at his waist and shoulders while he struggled. He knew this was it. For the first time in his life, he wished he was capable of hope.

But it didn't stop the butt of the gun connecting with his skull.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Walter awoke with a start, wincing heavily as his head burst with sharp tendrils of pain. He squinted in the dim light, staring down at the shine of silver duct tape around his arms. Vaguely stunned by the image, he wriggled a little, feeling the same tight material around his ankles.

He looked up, unsurprised to see his attacker glaring at him from the darkness. The man took a few steps forward, something glinting in his fist. A knife. A combat knife.

Walter glanced down at his lap, knowing exactly what was about to happen. He wasn't afraid, but he was hesitant to face the inevitable future. Pain was still pain, and he wasn't one to welcome it.

"What did you tell them?" the man snarled, taking a few steps out of the shadows.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're referring to," Walter sighed, keeping his eyes on his knees. He heard it coming before he felt it. There was a flurry of shuffling as the intruder rushed forward, knife tightly held in his fist.

Walter cried out abruptly as the blade plunged into his thigh, tearing deep into the muscle before sliding out in the same, quick motion. He panted in the aftermath, staring down at the growing stain on his pant leg.

"What did you tell them?" the man repeated, strangely calm despite the enraged expression on his face.

"T-tell who?" Walter huffed, blinking rapidly against the burning agony in his leg.

"You know who!" the man shouted, white knuckling the knife. "What did you tell them?"

Walter shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Toby would tell him to lie, but Walter had no real knowledge in deception. "I…I don't know who you're talking about."

"Don't lie!" the man screamed, quickly driving the blade into the same leg. Walter screamed painfully behind pursed lips, the sound rough and guttural. "Tell me what you told them!"

Walter could feel his breathing beginning to hiccup in the face of fresh agony, sweat beading on his face. "I can't…I can't tell you if…if I don't know who," he wheezed, shutting his eyes against the pain bouncing around his skull and leg.

"You know who!" the man snarled, ripping the knife out of Walter's leg. Walter yelped at the sudden tear of the blade, his body trembling under the abuse.

"I don't know who!" Walter shouted desperately, his voice breaking under the strain as a sudden surge of adrenaline bolted through his veins. "I don't know who you're talking about! I don't!" He blinked harshly, stunned by his own outburst.

"Don't lie!" the man yelled, holding the knife dangerously close to Walter's throat.

Walter shook his head, swallowing heavily. "I'm…I'm not lying. I don't know who the hell…you're talking about." he answered breathlessly, his voice low.

"I've seen the cars. The suits. I know it's them you're talking to. You're helping them," the man accused, narrowing his eyes threateningly.

Walter panted as he processed the information. Suits? The only people he could think of…

"The government?" Walter huffed, frowning in puzzlement. He could see it now. The crazed look of paranoia in the man's eyes; the look of a hermit, marinating in the ideas of an imagined threat. A man that saw something that wasn't there.

"And you're helping them!" the man yelled, pointing the blade towards Walter. "You're going to tell me what you told them about me, so I can stay ahead of them. They'll never find me."

"No, you don't…you don't understand," Walter reasoned, knowing his attempts would most likely be useless. He winced against the strong throbbing in his leg, eyes glued to the bloodied knife. "I haven't told them anything. I…I solve problems for them. I'm a problem solver." Walter focused on breathing evenly through the pain, pushing the wound to the back of his mind.

"You can't fool me," the man growled. "You told them about me. You've been helping them find me!"

Walter shook his head, peering up at his captor. "No, I swear. All I do is solve problems."

"Like hell you do!" the man snarled, shoving the blade deep into Walter's shoulder. Walter yelled, his legs squirming a little at the fresh wave of pain. With one, swift motion, his captor tore the knife out, forcing another scream from the genius.

Walter attempted to control his breathing, overwhelmed by the pulsing agony bolting through his body. He had to think a way out of this, or he would be dead before the team even realized he was in danger.

"Perhaps this isn't enough motivation to talk," the man grumbled, glaring thoughtfully at the knife. He swept his dark eyes around the garage, curiously scanning his surroundings. "I think I can find something."

Walter watched the man carefully as he disappeared into the belly of the garage. He winced at the very idea, knowing what Happy kept back there. Sensing the burst of urgency, Walter's brain flipped into overdrive, frantically trying to think of how to get out of this.

Shifting a little in his seat, Walter was surprised to feel the familiar weight of his phone in his pocket, faintly wondering why his captor hadn't taken it from him. It didn't matter, this opened up a small possibility. A chance to find his way to safety.

Walter was suddenly grateful he hadn't been bound around his waist or torso, flexing his right hand as he stared down at the rectangular shape in his pocket. The injuries in his leg would complicate things, but he had to try.

Gritting his teeth, Walter tried to push his body upwards, moving his pocket closer to his wriggling fingers. White hot pain spiked in his thigh, forcing his eyes shut as he desperately fought the scream in his throat. He pushed harder, time slipping away the longer he struggled.

His fingers fumbled against the lip of his pocket, stretching as far as they could. He nearly let out a hysteric laugh when his fingertips brushed the device, extending a little further before managing to get a hold of it. Carefully, he pulled it from his pocket, gripped only in his fingertips until he was able to get a proper hold.

It took everything not to cheer for his success.

He glanced worriedly towards the shadows, knowing his captor would be back soon. As quick as he could manage with trembling fingers, he dialed Cabe's number, releasing a sigh as the call went out.

Walter was startled by a loud clang, dropping the phone as it clattered to the floor. For a moment, panic fluttered in his chest, certain the phone had been damaged by the drop.

Thankfully, it was still on and dialing out.

Glancing up, he saw the man returning, holding something sizable. Alarmed, Walter swiftly kicked the phone under his desk, despite the limited mobility of his feet.

"This should help loosen your tongue," the man muttered, setting up his newfound toy. Walter's eyes widened as he recognized Happy's torch. It was her favorite for soldering.

For the first time, he was sure he was feeling fear.

None of this was logical. None of what the man believed was even based on fact. However, what frightened Walter the most was the very notion that his captor was sure in his delusions. No matter what Walter said, he was rather certain that he was going to die, because he would never be able to give the man the answers he wanted. Even if he lied, nothing was going to be enough for the madman.

His tormentor would always demand for more information. More and more until Walter was dead.

Walter watched the bright flame burst from the end of the torch, solid and unwavering. He already knew what it was for. Part of him wondered if Cabe had even answered. Walter was dead if he hadn't.

"Tell me what you told them," the man urged, narrowing his eyes. "Tell me." The torch came closer, and Walter swallowed thickly at what would follow.

"I didn't tell them anything," Walter whispered, staring glassily at the torch. "Because I don't even know who you are."

"You're lying!" the man screeched. He forced the torch towards Walter's chest, barely touching the burning flame over the thin fabric of his captive's shirt. Walter screamed, clenching his eyes shut tightly against the blinding agony on his skin. The smell of burning flesh wafted to his nostrils, his stomach swirling dangerously.

"I didn't tell them!" Walter yelled, his voice ravaged and broken by desperation. "I didn't tell them!"

"Liar!" the man bellowed, dragging the torch along Walter's chest. Walter yelled wildly, quickly growing hoarse at the immense strain.

Mercifully, the man pulled the torch away, allowing Walter a small moment of reprieve. Walter gasped for air, a sob stuck in his throat as his chest burned and throbbed with every breath.

"Tell me what you told them!" the man demanded angrily, unsympathetic as Walter hiccupped and wheezed.

"I-I didn't—"

"Yes, you did!"

The hard fist smashed into Walter's cheekbone, mercilessly snapping his head to the right. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring a little from the collision.

"Tell me!" the man urged, throwing another fist against Walter's face. "Tell me!"

Walter's brain just wanted to shut down. He wasn't sure if he could take much more of this. Injury, he could handle. Pain, he could endure. But torture…that was something else entirely.

He could hear the torch being turned on again, the surrounding silence almost mocking him in his own growing terror.

"You're going to tell me what you told them," the man threatened, holding the burning flame against Walter's stomach, and slowly trailing it across the abdomen. Walter screamed, flaring up the pain from his other wounds as he squirmed and thrashed.

He was going to die here. Alone. Cabe probably didn't even answer. He probably wouldn't even know Walter called until the morning.

He was going to die here.

Walter couldn't hear anything beyond his own screams of terror and agony, the man's shouts melting into the muffled background. Suddenly, the burning heat was gone, leaving a trail of pain behind it. Walter looked up at the lunatic, tears biting at his eyes. It was a strange feeling, the tears, but not wholly unwarranted.

His heart plummeted at the sick shine of the bloody knife.

"They'll never find me," the man repeated, the words bringing something cold and dreadful to Walter's chest.

Because he was beginning to think that Cabe wouldn't find him either.

"You're going to tell me what you told them," the madman spat, pressing the sharp side of the blade against Walter's thigh. "I'll make you talk."

Walter stared fearfully at the knife, unsure if he _could_ even talk. His voice felt dead in his throat, ripped to shreds in the throes of pain.

Slowly, the man slid the blade along his thigh, leaving a thin trail of red in its wake. Walter clamped his mouth shut, breathing shakily through the stinging stripe on his leg. The man began another line next to the first, moving slowly as he watched his captive with a look of determination.

Walter began to wish that blood loss had already taken him. He just wanted it all to be over, to be free from all this torture.

He looked up at his captor's eyes, seeing something horrifying in the dark orbs. Somehow, Walter knew his captor's intentions had morphed from simply getting information to breaking his captive. To breaking Walter. And the man was quickly growing frustrated.

In an instant, the lunatic's last bit of sanity seemed to snap with full-blown irritation.

He let out a furious cry before forcing the blade into Walter's abdomen, pushing it as deep as he could. Walter released a hoarse shout of pain as he curled inward, breathing shallowly against the burning wound in his stomach.

His captor let go of the handle, leaving the weapon lodged in his belly. Walter stared at it with an almost dazed look, eyes trailing the handle protruding from his own body. He felt sick.

Walter slowly moved his gaze upward as his tormentor returned to the torch, staring at it with an impatient expression.

"This might not even be enough," the man muttered irritably, dropping it unceremoniously back onto Paige's desk. Flicking a glare at Walter, he disappeared back into the blackness, leaving Walter alone in the pit of the garage.

For a moment, Walter just shut his eyes, attempting to breathe evenly through the collecting agony. He could feel the sob in his throat, but quickly swallowed it. No, he wasn't scared. Fear made you do stupid things.

Except he was scared. Walter was actually terrified.

He could still smell the lingering scent of burnt flesh, sickened by the thought that it was _him_ being mutilated. Burnt by a madman for information he didn't have. Tortured because of the delusions of a single person. And it appeared to be far from finished.

His eyes fell to the broad, red stain on his pant leg. He could see blood dripping off his thigh, creating a small pool beneath it. Maybe he'd bleed out soon. Maybe this could all be over.

He'd never felt panic before. Not like this. With everything he'd experienced with his job, he'd never really panicked. Even when he was left behind with an explosive, he hadn't panicked. However, he'd chosen to be in all those situations. He'd known the risks and the possible outcomes, and he'd still volunteered.

Even when he'd driven his car off the cliff's edge, he'd accepted his fate. He was prepared to face the consequences of his actions, however unwilling he was to admit it.

He hadn't volunteered for this. He wasn't prepared for this. None of it was even for the greater good.

Walter stiffened at the sound of sloshing liquid, dreading what was next. His tormentor emerged from the shadows, carrying a bucket with an old cloth slung over his shoulder. Walter quickly put two and two together, the panic ratcheting considerably.

No, he couldn't. He couldn't.

Walter squirmed in his seat, struggling against the restraints as pain surged from his injuries. He didn't care about anything else at the moment, gritting his teeth as his eyes frantically glanced between the bucket and the cloth.

The man put the bucket down on Walter's desk, holding the cloth tightly in one hand. "Tell me what you told them."

Walter shook his head, staring wide-eyed at his captor. "I didn't tell them anything," he insisted heatedly, his voice rough. "I didn't tell them anything, because I don't know you! I don't!"

"Don't lie!" the man roared, covering Walter's face in the cloth as he roughly turned the chair, and leaned it against the desk.

Even though Walter knew what was coming, he wasn't prepared. Water dumped over his face, soaking the cloth as it plastered against his mouth and nose. He couldn't breathe, his lungs burning as he struggled wildly in his seat.

Black dots spotted his vision, his body growing feeble with the lack of oxygen. He coughed and spluttered against the water, unable to keep from inhaling it as it continuously poured over his face. Just when he was sure he would pass out, it stopped. His chair was righted, and the cloth was ripped from his face, leaving him coughing and desperately inhaling precious oxygen.

His abdomen spiked with pain, the knife in his gut shifting a little with every cough and deep breath. Walter didn't care. He didn't care that it hurt. He was just happy to _breathe_.

"Tell me," his captor demanded, fury molding harsh lines into his face.

Walter shook his head, the familiar bite of tears returning full force as he coughed and gasped for air. "I-I didn't…I didn't tell them." He coughed heartily, the act tearing further at his strained throat.

Without saying a word, the cloth was back, and his chair was leaning against the desk. He tried to flail, cries of terror easily slipping from his lungs.

Then, the water was there, and he was battling for oxygen with everything he had.

He nearly had the mind to give up.

He almost had when the water and cloth disappeared, and all four legs of the chair were firmly on the floor.

"Tell me," the man hissed, the soaked cloth gripped tightly in one fist.

Walter coughed as his lungs heaved, desperate to be liberated from this torture. "I-I didn't—"

The cloth was nearly over his face when the panic seized his chest.

"Wait!" he shouted, coughing bitterly as he stared up at his tormentor. The man lowered the cloth, glaring down at Walter with a silent threat. Walter swallowed, huffing to catch his breath. "I told them you were in Los Angeles," he lied, his voice tight as he held back an onslaught of coughs. "I told them…I told them you were within three miles from this garage." It was just a guess, but Walter was desperate for relief. He couldn't face waterboarding again.

The man watched him with a look of scrutiny, searching every line and shadow on Walter's face. Walter only hoped he'd picked a few things up from Toby.

"Not good enough," the man mumbled, grasping the cloth in both hands. Walter's breathing grew frantic, his eyes staring up with a look of horror.

This was it. This was the end.

His tormentor jumped when the door crashed open, and he jerked back with the cloth still in his hands.

"Homeland Security! Put your hands up!"

Walter let out a hysterical, breathy laugh mixed with a quiet sob, relief flooding his system. Cabe was here. Cabe found him.

He gasped when he felt his captor latch onto the knife in his abdomen, the man's fist wrapped tightly around the handle. Abruptly, Walter felt the knife rip out of his stomach, crying out as his eyes clenched shut. A single gunshot rang through the air, and something fell to the floor. The soft, sloppy thud filled the silence, practically echoing off the dark walls. Walter managed to peel his eyes open, finding his captor dead on the floor with a hole in his head.

He was dead. It was over.

"Walt?"

Walter heard quick footsteps. Running, his mind supplied. Someone was running.

"Walt?"

Familiar brown eyes peered into his, soft and concerned.

"T-Toby?" Walter huffed. His mind suddenly grew foggy, making it difficult to really think. He thought he heard sirens in the background, but he couldn't be sure.

"Keep still, Walt. Stay still," Toby advised, but his voice sounded strangely muffled.

Walter couldn't remember passing out.

 _Author's Note: Thanks for reading, gentle souls. Please review and tell me what you think. Should I continue?_


	2. Burdens

_Author's Note: Wow, guys. Wow. I am absolutely stunned by all your reviews and support. You guys really delivered! I feel absolutely terrible about posting the first chapter before Halloween; it really delayed my writing on this. In all honesty, I don't think I could abandon this story after one chapter, especially after all those reviews. However, I will say I found this chapter difficult to write. I think part of it was because I was so afraid that I'd disappoint if I didn't get it just right. So, I hope you like it! Not a ton of Walt in this chapter and I hope nobody is OOC. I just have a certain way I see it all going down and I can only hope that it's fairly accurate. But, please, enjoy and review if you've got a moment. You guys really are great._

 **2\. Burdens**

Toby could hear his heart raging against his ribcage. Walter's blood was already seeping through his fingers, slippery and crimson in the dim garage. The doc swept his eyes over the genius, hands pressed firmly against Walter's abdomen. His gaze lingered on the burns branding his friend's torso, Toby's imagination frantically sprinting through possible scenarios.

The shrink forced his eyes elsewhere, pausing at the wound in Walter's shoulder. The surrounding fabric was dark and damp, untouched by the crimson blot. The genius was wet. Why was Walter wet? Toby's gaze flickered to the bucket on the desk, and then to the fallen intruder. The curled, lifeless hand still clung to an old rag. A wet, old rag.

Toby's breathing hitched, and his stomach heaved dangerously. No, no, no, don't let it be true. Please, whatever deity is listening, don't let it be true.

"How's he doing?"

Toby jolted at the inquiry, having nearly forgotten Cabe's presence.

"He's, uh...he's…"

Toby didn't know what to say. Damn it, this was Walter; Walter was always okay. Except he might not be. Even after everything Walter had survived, _this_ topped everything else.

"I don't know, Cabe. I don't know," Toby mumbled, eyes flitting frantically over the genius. They halted abruptly on Walter's left leg, catching dark stain on black fabric. It was still bleeding, red liquid dripping onto the concrete floor. He jerked his head toward the wound, swallowing thickly. "Put some pressure on that leg," he ordered hurriedly, his voice weary and humorless. "At least until the paramedics get here."

Cabe quickly moved into action, shedding his suit jacket before pressing it against the thigh wound. Toby looked at his own hands, crimson fingers forced against Walter's stomach. How the hell did this even happen?

He could still clearly envision Cabe's face when he'd answered. It just seemed like a simple phone call. The late hour didn't even seem unusual. Not with Walter; he was always up late. It just seemed normal. Everything was normal.

Toby and Cabe had been at Monty's Gym until closing, working the bag in an attempt to refine Toby's swing. It just seemed natural to grab a bite to eat afterward, and the two chatted awhile over the customary burger and fries. Then Walter called. And Toby had never been so terrified in his life.

Walter's screams still echoed in his ears, sawing through his thoughts with horrific potency.

He jerked in startled surprise as the main door to the garage burst open, a flurry of medical personnel spilling inside. Part of Toby was relieved while the other loathed putting Walter in someone else's hands. Still, he had no choice. He couldn't treat Walter on his own.

He could feel himself being pulled away, gloved hands replacing his stained fingers. Toby had to convince himself they were there to help; if he could trust anyone, it was the paramedics. He watched them work with dead eyes as they prepared the genius for transport and hastily placed him on a stretcher. Time seemed to slip by unnoticed, invisible among rushed movements.

There were flashes of white gauze as the paramedics moved their patient toward the door, their urgent shouts sounding muffled in Toby's ears. The door swung open and squealed shut again, the crowd disappearing behind old, rusted metal.

In an instant, Walter was gone.

"…kid!"

Toby blinked, clearing the odd blur that had drifted into his vision. Cabe stared at him with those fierce, worried eyes, white shirt marred by a single smear of blood on the sleeve.

"You with me, kid?"

Toby frowned, then nodded, his emotions pressed tightly against his sternum. It was hard to breathe, the air thick with lingering terror.

Toby's eyes slid to the now empty chair, trailing the remnants of used duct tape, spotting every little drop of blood and water. Dazed, his gaze drifted to Paige's desk, brow furrowing as he spotted Happy's trusted torch on the surface.

That explained the burns.

"Toby, son, we should start heading over to the hospital," Cabe muttered, stubbornly tugging Toby off the floor. Toby hadn't even realized he was sitting down. "Someone will be here to take care of the body, but we have to go to the hospital."

He remembered Cabe guiding him to the SUV, carefully pressing him into the passenger seat as the agent ran around the front. Toby wanted to focus on the task at hand, but his mind was still processing what they'd left behind. He stared down at his red-crusted hands, dry blood cracking over his knuckles.

"We have to call the team," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "We have to tell them what happened."

"Then start calling, kid. Tell them to meet us at the hospital," Cabe instructed, breezing through traffic with practiced ease. Toby blinked slowly, frowning a little. How could he tell the team? What was he supposed to say?

With trembling hands, he fished his phone from his pocket, staring down at the screen as his heart pumped wildly. Sylvester will probably take it the hardest. As much as Toby wanted to help good, ol' Sly face his anxiety, this was not the time. Maybe he should call him last.

But then who would he tell first? He wanted to tell Happy before anyone else. Despite their odd, struggling relationship, he still valued her above most everyone. Her voice held a unique kind of comfort, even in the throes of anger.

But, he knew who should be first. Even if calling her intimidated him the most.

He found her number and dialed out, already compiling what he should say. He'd call Paige first. She'd want to know right away. She _needed_ to know right away. With how much Walter meant to her, it would be cruel to hold onto this kind of information, because she'd want to be there. She'd want to be there every step of the way until she was sure Walter was just fine.

Yet, even if it had been anyone but Walter on the team, Paige would still be there. That's just who she was.

In fact, maybe she could pick up Sylvester and help him deal with the trial at hand. Toby would do it himself, but he couldn't compete with Paige's innate ability to comfort others in a time of need. She had a way with people even Toby couldn't understand.

It was almost unfair that the team couldn't return the favor.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Paige groaned as her phone buzzed wildly on the bedside table. Her night classes seemed to keep her up later and later these days, the thought of finals taunting her with every passing week. Most nights, she'd sit down to review a small section, only to painstakingly study entire chapters until late.

Sleep had never seemed more precious. And she did not want to give it up now.

Still, she had to answer it. It was probably urgent. It always seemed to be these days.

Floundering in the darkness, she clawed at her bedside table, finally latching onto the dreaded device. With a huff, she harshly pushed her finger against the green button and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she mumbled sleepily. She hadn't even checked who it was; she was too tired to put in the effort.

 _"Paige?"_

She frowned at the voice on the other end. It was familiar, and yet strangely different.

"Toby?" she croaked, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

 _"Something's happened,"_ he muttered softly, his voice lightly brushed with a calming tone. It sounded almost alien coming from Toby. He sounded defeated. Subdued.

Paige bolted upright, a nearly suffocating panic settling in her chest. "What happened?"

There was a long sigh on the other end, the following silence heavy and tired. _"Somebody broke into the garage."_

Paige's stomach flopped uncomfortably as her lungs stopped functioning in a moment of shock.

"What?" She sat still for a moment, holding her breath as she racked her brain for all the possibilities. Amongst her internal flurry of questions, one stood boldest amongst all others. She took a deep breath, somewhat frightened to face the answer. "Is…is anyone hurt?"

Toby was quiet on the other end, the soft whisper of his breathing drifting through the speaker. _"Walter was the only one in the garage tonight. He didn't...He didn't look great."_

Paige sat frozen amongst her blankets, emptily staring across the dark room. Part of her wanted to ask for details, but the other half heavily relied on the bliss of ignorance.

 _"Cabe and I are on our way to the hospital now, but I thought that maybe it would be a good idea if you picked up Sly before you came. The big guy might need a little emotional support."_

Paige swallowed thickly, nodding to herself. Toby was right: Sylvester would need someone he trusted. Even with how well he'd been doing lately, this was a frightening blow for all of them. Besides, Happy probably wouldn't be great company at a time like this.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll get Ralph ready and then we'll head straight over to pick up Sylvester," she replied, her voice slightly choked by her bleeding worry. She had to be strong. For Ralph. For Sylvester. Besides, she didn't really know the details. Walter could be just fine.

She immediately tattooed the name of the hospital into her brain as Toby relayed it to her, and then hung up with a cold, quivering feeling in her chest. For a moment, she just sat in her bed, wound up in her sheets and blanket as all her thoughts rolled around her head.

Walter was in the hospital.

She threw the covers off in an instant, sliding out of bed and rushing to her dresser. Paige tore clean clothes out of the drawers, tugging them on as quickly as she could manage before tossing her phone in her purse and rushing out of her bedroom.

She stopped abruptly in front of Ralph's door, knocking lightly before pushing the door open. He was already stirring, brow furrowed with his eyelids shut tightly.

"Ralph, honey, we've got to go," Paige urged, breathless in her rush. "Walter's in the hospital and we have to pick up Sylvester."

Ralph's eyes peeled open, staring up confusedly at his mother. "What happened?"

Paige was quiet for a moment, unsure of how to tell her son the current circumstances. She understood he wasn't like most other boys; he'd probably take the news much better than she had, but it still seemed wrong.

"A stranger got into the garage," she muttered, frantically trying to pull an appropriate explanation together. "Walter got hurt, but we won't know more until we get to the hospital, sweetie."

He stared at her for a long while, those intelligent eyes analyzing her every word. She knew he could read the fear on her face, easily determining the seriousness of the situation. Still, he said nothing.

Ralph wordlessly slid out of bed and got dressed, grabbing his backpack before following his mom out to the car. Paige continuously glanced at him to check for signs of distress, only to find herself strangely disappointed by the lack of emotion.

And, yet, she knew better than to take his reaction at face value. Sometimes, Ralph was far too much like Walter.

The two of them were both silent as they got into the car, the hum of the engine surging through the vehicle before they sped off into the inky darkness.

Ralph watched the passing streetlights as Paige weaved her way to Sylvester's. She often checked on her son through the rearview mirror, pursing her lips as he remained silent and still. He was upset; she could tell. He'd given off the same air when they'd driven to their Portland flight. What killed her was that Ralph seemed to prefer the silence over verbal comforts. She supposed it was because he liked to work it out on his own. What he was working out…she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

As she drove, Paige's heart felt heavy in her chest, Toby's words echoing in her mind. Why would someone break into the garage? Even with a Russian rocket in plain sight, nobody had ever really broken in before. It wasn't like it was an obvious treasure trove. She tried to think of all the possibilities as she navigated through Los Angeles, minutes flickering by without so much as a definite answer. She hated this. She hated that she wasn't at the hospital already, waiting anxiously for good news.

She took a deep breath, turning onto a familiar, empty street. Ralph still hadn't said anything; he simply stared at the passing buildings and fire hydrants.

Paige frowned when she saw a familiar figure standing beneath a streetlight. Wavy brown hair reflected the yellowy light, a dark backpack securely strapped behind him. He fidgeted nervously on the sidewalk, staring down at the dimly lit concrete.

Paige pulled up smoothly beside him, rolling the window down. "Sylvester?"

His head snapped up to look at her, soft eyes vulnerable in the darkness.

"Why didn't you wait inside?" she asked quietly, her voice strangely hushed, even as her hands anxiously tapped the steering wheel.

Sylvester quickly pulled the passenger door open, slipping inside as he slung his backpack onto his lap. "Because we can't waste time," he muttered, snapping the door shut.

Paige didn't need to be told twice. Her foot dropped onto the gas pedal, propelling the three of them into the dark streets of L.A.

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Happy's blood was boiling. Toby had been rather vague on the phone, careful not to give too much away over the line. He'd mentioned something about a break in, and the thought stuck with her. Whoever had done this to Walter was going to die. By her bare hands.

Her boots thudded against the linoleum flooring, the hallway lights rapidly passing by. As soon as Toby was in her sights, she'd strangle more information out of him. She'd find the culprit on her own and bury him in a shallow grave. Hell, forget burying. The intruder hardly deserved that much.

Cabe was the first face she saw, the older agent standing stiffly in the waiting room. Her eyes were already roving around to find Toby, only to come to an abrupt stop. She slowed as she approached, gaze glued to the doc's hands.

They were red. The wrong kind of red.

"…should wash your hands, son."

Happy only picked up the last half of Cabe's sentence, but it only encouraged what she'd already figured out on her own. It was Walter's blood. Walter's blood was still clinging to Toby's fingers.

She looked at Toby's face, her own heart sinking at the blank look in his eyes. It unnerved her.

"Toby," she grumbled, softly kicking her boot against his shin. "Where's the guy? The guy that attacked Walter?"

Toby shook his head a little, eyes dropping to the linoleum. "He's dead. Cabe had to shoot him."

Happy frowned, her brow furrowing as she mulled over his words. She looked to Cabe, something dark glinting in the agent's eye. "Why? What happened?"

Cabe stared at her for a long while, his face set with a steely expression. She could tell he was debating responding at all, his military stance sturdy and unwavering.

He shifted a little where he stood, clearing his throat. "He wasn't going to let Walter go," Cabe muttered, his blue eyes turning away.

Happy's frown deepened, the familiar burn of anger bubbling up through her core. "What does that mean?" she asked flatly, her voice dangerous and low. Cabe wouldn't respond, still staring down at the floor with that iron, haunted look. Her stare drifted to Toby, who only shook his head.

She shoved her hands into her pockets, pressing her lips together as she glanced over the waiting room. "Toby, tell me what happened."

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing thickly as he clasped his crimson hands together. He opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by a familiar voice drifting down the hallway.

"Cabe?"

The three of them looked up, their collective gaze catching the three missing members of their team. Paige quickly jogged at the forefront, Ralph and Sylvester close behind as they rushed into the waiting room. Toby's mouth snapped shut at the sight of them, reluctant to further damage Sylvester's delicate emotions. He didn't want him to know. He didn't want any of them to know.

The thought of Walter being ruthlessly tortured was frightening enough. The very idea that Walter's genius brain could be ravaged by such inhumanity was unsettling. What if he wasn't the same? What if he was permanently affected?

"How is he?" Paige asked, her voice wavering a little. Sylvester stood rigidly behind her, staring down at Toby's red hands. Paige had yet to notice.  
"We don't know yet," Cabe huffed, straightening his back a little. "Haven't heard anything since we left the garage."

"Well, is he…is he going to be okay?" Paige pressed. She looked at Toby, stiffening instantly at the sight of his red fingers. For a moment, she was silent, eyes glued to the crimson crusted over his knuckles. "Toby?" Her voice was brittle and small, as if housing a wish that this was all a bad dream.

Toby kept his eyes downward, his heart seizing in his chest. He wished didn't have to tell her. The look on her face not was bad enough. But, she should know. She had to know.

Besides, Walter may need her more than any of them realized.

He looked up at her, his large eyes apologetic and somber. "Maybe we should talk alone."

Paige stared at him in silence, her brain slowly mulling over his words. Why did he want to talk alone? What did that mean?

The rest of the team was frozen where they stood, stilled by the mere hint in Toby's voice. Happy was slowly working herself into a fit of rage, wishing she could lay waste to the lowlife that'd done this. But she knew there was no point. The bastard was already dead.

"Okay," Paige mumbled nervously, nodding curtly. "Let's talk."

A heavy sigh rolled out of Toby's lungs as he wearily pushed himself off his seat. He quietly urged Paige to walk with him with a small tilt of his head, the motion tired and muted. After a minute of stillness, the two soundlessly slipped away from the team, slowly wandering down an empty hallway.

Neither one was in a rush. Each step was deliberate and careful, the two taking their time as they drifted away from the waiting room. For a long time, they didn't say a word. Not until they were certain they were out of earshot. Part of it was the dread uncomfortably settling in their stomachs. The other part was for Sylvester's delicate anxiety and Ralph's young years.

"What's wrong?" Paige whispered, fearful of the coming news. Perhaps Walter wouldn't make it. Maybe he'd been so injured that recovery wasn't even on the table.

Toby took a deep breath, scrubbing his face tiredly with one hand. "It was pretty bad, Paige," he muttered, shaking his head. "The guy that broke in…he was there for Walter." His gaze caught hers, a haunted look in his eye. For a moment, he let the quiet hang in the air, the dread evident in his features. "He was there to intentionally hurt Walt."

Paige gaped at him, abruptly coming to a halt in the hallway. "What?"

"He…he was there to hurt him, Paige. He was there to _break_ him," Toby replied, his voice strangely hoarse.

She swallowed thickly, hoping to quell the rising nausea. "What do you mean 'break him'?" she muttered. Her voice shook a little, frightened to face the details. She wasn't sure she should know the answer, but she couldn't stop herself.

"He…he tortured Walt," Toby muttered, staring down at the floor. Paige's breath stuttered to a stop, shock permeating through her chest. Toby looked back up at her, his eyes soft. "I think…I think that guy water boarded him, Paige."

Paige gazed stiffly at the shrink, her heart in her throat.

"...What?"


	3. Lurking Shadows

_Author's Note: Hello! Yes, yes, I know I haven't updated in ages, and I feel absolutely terrible. So terrible. As a reader, I understand how frustrating lengthy breaks between updates are, so I thoroughly apologize. The holidays took quite a bit of my time and work and overtime took the other, so I'm finally recovering from a busy, busy month and a half. I'm hoping I will have much more time on my hands to do more of what I love: write! Again, I'm sorry and I hope you do enjoy this next installment. Thanks so much for reading and being patient with me!_

 **3\. Lurking Shadows**

Paige was beginning to feel overwhelmingly nauseous.

Only fifteen minutes ago she was anxious to hear from the doctor. Now, standing with Ralph and most of the team, staring down at Walter's pale face, she wasn't sure if that's really what she wanted. He looked terrible. Worse than terrible, and that was only with what she could see: a blossoming black eye and the hint of a bandage peeking out from under the collar of his hospital gown.

She could still hear the doctor's voice in her head.

Stab wounds to the shoulder, left thigh and abdomen…lacerations on the right thigh…burns on his chest and abdomen…

The words just seemed to circle in her head. She wanted to cry, but not in front of Ralph or the others. Not now.

She looked out of the room, her heart clenching as she watched Toby try to soothe Sylvester's anxiety. Sylvester had become overwhelmed as soon as he laid eyes on Walter, much of his rising emotional distress due to Megan's declining health. The poor boy was a mess, fidgeting over his new wife and brother-in-law. He was coming apart at the seams while Toby frantically tried to sew him back together.

Although, Paige was certain she was close to being a wreck herself.

Toby gave Sylvester a sturdy pat on the shoulder, offering a weak smile of confidence. The human calculator shifted where he stood, finally giving a curt nod and turning from Toby in a slow farewell as he wandered away from Walter's room.

Paige shot Toby a questioning look as the shrink slipped back through the door.

"I told him he should be with Megan," Toby sighed. "And that I'd let him know if there are any changes."

She nodded weakly, turning her gaze back to Walter. They were all dealing with the silence in their own ways, watching the unconscious genius with something akin to shock. Happy was practically bubbling with her own frustration, but was strangely calm with the situation at hand. Cabe, on the other hand, wore his best protective, fatherly expression. No doubt he'd jump in on the investigation. Anything to find out why this had happened to Walter.

Yet, Ralph looked on in unmoving silence.

"Walt shouldn't wake up for a couple more hours, at least," Toby mumbled, glancing briefly at everyone else before settling his gaze back on Walter. "It might be a nice time to head home and get a few hours of sleep."

Paige looked at Toby, her mouth dropping open as if to say something. But, what could she say? She wanted to stay right here, but she had responsibilities as a mother. No matter what she wanted, it was best to take Ralph home.

"I can watch Ralph for awhile," Happy volunteered. Paige spun to look at her, her eyes soft with unspoken emotion. Certainly Happy couldn't have read her mind…could she?

"Are you sure?" Paige muttered weakly, blinking back the sudden bite of tears.

"It's not a problem," Happy replied with a shrug. She watched Paige with her dark eyes, silence settling over them as they shared an odd, understanding gaze. "Walt needs you here."

Paige swallowed her emotion, nodding jerkily. Hearing those words from Happy just seemed to break her down, her already fragile heart touched by the rough mechanic's tenderness. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Like I said, not a problem," Happy mumbled, offering an awkward smile. The petite fireball turned to Ralph, tapping him softly on the shoulder. Ralph glanced at her, returning his gaze back to Walter for a lingering moment. When he was satisfied, he looked up at his mother, a silent reassurance in his intelligent eyes.

Paige did her best to offer a decent smile as she gently squeezed his shoulder. He offered a smile of his own, moving to hug her. The very gesture struck Paige in a way she'd never felt before, the tears welling up in her eyes. She could feel his arms wrapped fiercely around her, her own quickly returning the embrace. He let it linger for a moment, as if trying to give her extra strength, before he broke away.

Without a word, Ralph turned his attention to Happy, the two of them quietly vacating the room.

"I think I'll see what Homeland's found," Cabe huffed, settling a gentle hand on Paige's shoulder. "Hang in there."

Not knowing what to say, she simply offered a smooth incline of her head. Patting her shoulder, he turned away, slowly meandering out of the room and peering over his shoulder at the unconscious genius. He turned his gaze forward, shoulders hunched and posture weary as he stepped out of the doorway. He took a stride to the left, and suddenly, he was gone as his footsteps faded down the hall.

Toby looked at Paige, his soft eyes beaten and tired.

"Looks like we're on duty."

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Paige stared at Walter's pallid face, the magazine forgotten in her lap. Toby decided to take a walk and stretch his legs, leaving Paige alone in the silent room. Toby was confident the genius should wake up fairly soon, which only seemed to send Paige's already fluttering heart into a panic.

Hopefully, Toby would be back soon.

She let out a huff, tossing the magazine onto the bedside table and narrowly missing the pitcher of water. A nurse had been nice enough to leave it for them, three small cups standing innocently beside it. Toby had already had a few gulps, but Paige wasn't sure she could even keep it down.

Paige looked back up at Walter, freezing immediately.

His eyelids were opening to slits, dark orbs staring dully at the wall.

"Walter?" she asked, quietly scooting her seat closer.

He didn't say anything, his face pinched a little in discomfort.

"Are you in pain? Do you need something for the pain?" she inquired eagerly, her hand already reaching for the call button. Toby assured her that Walter already had some painkillers, but to ask for more if the genius needed it.

"No…" he croaked, his voice hoarse and raspy. "No more drugs…" Paige quickly retracted her hand, the call button untouched. His brow furrowed weakly, his whole expression plagued by the overwhelming presence of fatigue and confusion. He coughed softly, groaning as he shifted a little.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

He shook his head, his eyes clenched shut as he slowly came back to consciousness.

Paige fidgeted in her seat, unsure what else to do as she watched Walter struggle into wakefulness. He suddenly froze, his glassy eyes stuck to the opposite wall. Paige sat up straight, suddenly alert.

For a moment, Walter said nothing, simply staring into an empty void. Slowly, his mouth opened, his brow furrowing further as his head rested against his pillows. "Is he…Is he really dead?" he whispered, his voice broken and damaged. A jolt seemed to jump through Paige's body, her muscles tensing instantly.

She wished she didn't know what he was talking about. But she did. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

"He's, um…" She bit her lip, worrying her hands nervously. "He can't hurt you anymore, Walter." she muttered uncomfortably, swallowing thickly.

His dull gaze slid to hers, something entirely wrong about the look in his eyes. "Is he really dead?" he repeated, his voice firmer, even with the hoarse rasp of every word.

She stayed silent for a second, merely staring into those glassy, dark orbs. They looked darker. Duller. As if they'd lost the very light of life. Her own heart seemed to freeze in her chest.

She stiffly nodded in affirmation, pressing her lips together worriedly. Paige could feel the bite of tears in her eyes, unable to tear herself away from his weary, defeated gaze. Something was wrong. She just knew it.

Cautiously, she reached out to take his hand, gently wrapping her fingers around his. "Are you okay?"

He frowned, looking almost confused as he lay exhausted and worn against his bedding. "What did the doctor say?"

Her lips tightened, and her gaze flickered elsewhere. "You know that's not what I mean, Walter."

He was silent for a moment, a wince touching his features as he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm fine." he muttered, sounding strangely robotic.

Paige didn't believe him.

"It's okay to admit it if you're not," she encouraged, her hand squeezing his. "There's no reason for you to be ashamed."

"I'm fine," he repeated, the words firmer and harsher. He clenched his eyes shut, looking almost pained as he pursed his lips together. Paige fell silent immediately, watching him with a careful eye. Fear wriggled uncomfortably in her chest cavity.

"Do you…do you need any water?" she asked, taking her hand from Walter's and reaching for the pitcher on the bedside table. He jerkily shook his head, swallowing thickly as he closed his eyes. His already pale face seemed to grow whiter, tense lines forming on his guise as he took a long, deep breath.

In an instant, Paige realized her mistake, quickly retracting her hand and placing it gently on Walter's. "Okay, that's fine," she soothed quickly, forcing a weak smile on her face. "Let me know if you need anything, like some food or maybe a Russian rocket if you're up for it."

She was hoping for a smile, but all she got was a shaky breath billowing out of his lungs.

"It's okay, Walter; I'm here. You're okay," she assured him, miraculously managing an even, gentle tone.

"I'm fine," he mumbled automatically, a bit of color returning to his face as his eyes seemed to grow heavy. Paige couldn't help but feel a small spark of relief at his growing lack of energy, though his breathing still seemed a bit anxious.

Her chest aching, she moved her chair as close to his side as she could, moving her hand to softly sweep through his hair. His breathing seemed to grow steadier, though it still struggled to return to normal.

"It's okay, Walter," she whispered. "Just go to sleep." She could feel her heart beating fearfully against her ribs, desperately trying to calm down and failing miserably. Paige wished Toby was here. He'd at least be the emotional anchor she needed.

With a deep breath, she began to hum a gentle tune. She wasn't sure if it would work, but it had always helped get Ralph to sleep, even when his mind was far too busy for slumber. Maybe it would work for Walter too.

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Toby stared from his place against the doorway, watching Paige hum to the young genius. Paige had yet to notice him, but he'd rather remain hidden for a while longer. She'd want some kind of optimism from him, but he just didn't have any hope to offer.

He couldn't lie. Walter's reaction to a simple cup of water seemed to press uncomfortably against Toby's lungs. Part of him had already known something like this would happen, but he wasn't exactly prepared for it. Toby wasn't sure what he could do to fix this. The genius was a stubborn patient and even more reluctant to recognize his own fears and feelings. Walter would most likely try to endure his own suffering in silence.

He'd probably drive himself mad in the process.

Toby let out a long sigh, turning away from Walter's room. If he was more religious, he'd consider praying. For now, all he could hope for was a miracle. All he could wish for was for Paige to be something for Walter that the rest of them couldn't be. The one thing that urged the genius to find help.

Heaven and hell knew he'd only get worse.

He rubbed a hand over his face as he shuffled towards a nearby waiting area. Paige didn't realize what was in store for them. For now, Walter was safe in the hospital. There wasn't much here that could remind the genius of that dreadful night. Here, a cup of water was as close as he could get to the memory of torture.

But the garage was something else entirely. And there was no way to keep Walter from it.

Toby dropped into a seat in the empty waiting room, leaning forward with his face in his hands. There would be no way to keep Walter from that night. He'd see it every day simply because he would never turn his back on that garage.

And that terrified Toby more than anything he'd ever faced before.


	4. Damaged Sentiments of Home

_Author's Note: Hello, hello! Well, will you look at that? It hasn't even been a week and I've managed to crank out another chapter. See? I'm not as much of a flake as you think I am. However, I fear some people may have lost faith in me…there weren't a ton of reviews for the last chapter, so I hope I haven't disappointed a bunch of people with the story so far. Well, read on, humans. I hope you enjoy the latest installment, and as always, please leave a review if you've got a moment to spare. I do love to hear from you all._

 **4\. Damaged Sentiments of Home**

Walter stared out of the window of the cab, shifting stiffly in his seat. He knew Paige would be livid, but he didn't really care. The hospital was starting to feel cramped and limiting and he wasn't willing to wait for her to come pick him up.

After a week in the hospital, Walter was determined to get away from the same blanched walls of his room. Toby had forbidden anyone from bringing his laptop, which only added more to his frustration. It didn't help that Paige was completely supportive of the shrink's ruling.

However, not having access to his usual devices wasn't the worst part of the whole thing. It was the way everyone was acting around him. Paige was always so gentle, watching him with those large eyes as if he would break. She was always there, only leaving for a handful of hours every couple of days. If he'd learned anything from her in the past year, it was that he should probably be grateful for her attention. He was grateful for her, but for the attention…he would rather go without.

The pitying looks she would give him made him feel weak, like he would suddenly crumble to pieces.

Of course, the nightmares he had hardly helped his case. With every one of them, Paige would be right beside him with those big eyes and soft hands, reassuring him and offering every comfort in the book. He hated it. He was fine. His mind was fine. The nightmares would pass and they'd all go on with their lives.

However, what bothered him the most was the way Ralph would look at him. Like he was broken. Like he needed fixing.

He swallowed thickly, watching the passing buildings as he came closer to the garage. It was still early in the morning; the team wouldn't be there yet, so he'd be free to have some time alone for a minute. He needed to be away from all of it. To be away from the ever present notion that he was too fragile to leave alone. That he was afraid.

He couldn't be afraid. He'd faced death more times than most anyone could even fathom and he'd hadn't felt an ounce of fear with any of those situations.

But, he had been afraid in the garage.

Walter frowned. He could still remember the panicked, pulsing effect the terror had. He could remember how helpless he felt.

But that was all in the past now. The threat was gone. He'd be fine.

He _was_ fine.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of familiar brick, the brakes squealing ever so slightly. With a huff, Walter silently paid the driver and slipped out of the backseat, dragging his few belongings and a crutch with him. He tucked the crutch under one arm, his purple button-up crinkling around it. Fortunately, Paige had brought him a spare change of clothes last night, mumbling something about how she wanted to bring them before she forgot.

Not that it mattered. He'd have borrowed a spare set of scrubs if he had to.

As the cab zipped away, Walter slowly made his way to the door, limping stiffly. His body still ached, gradually healing with every day. His voice still had a scratchy quality to it, but it was slowly returning to its former strength.

With a sigh, Walter pushed open the metal door, wincing as pain shot from his shoulder wound. He figured the place would be unlocked. The only person that properly closed up was Walter. Besides, the garage didn't look like much of a target for theft.

He struggled inside, maneuvering the crutch to keep the pressure off his injured leg. Walter finally managed to squeeze through the opening, letting the door slam shut behind him.

For a moment, he simply paused, staring at the concrete floor in still silence. It felt strange being here. It seemed like ages since he'd last stepped foot in the garage.

He let out a long sigh, readjusting the crutch under his arm. Slowly, he turned to face the common area, staring out at the small collection of desks. It seemed so quiet. So serene.

Walter's eyes moved to look at his desk, blinking harshly when he was reminded of his chair tilted back, pressing against the lip of the desk. Water. Water everywhere.

His stomach began to churn at the memory, his lungs gulping down extra oxygen as he attempted to quell the rising nausea. But the smell and feel of the water seemed to waft over his senses, the suffocating feeling of drowning lingering in the back of his mind. He breathed more heavily, suddenly finding it harder and harder to breathe. With every exaggerated breath, the injuries on his abdomen stretched and burned, bouncing his thoughts to the bloody knife and searing torch.

In an instant, his brain exploded with images and recollections. Walter was suddenly overwhelmed with that dreadful night, his senses flooding with memories and sheer panic. He knew it was irrational to feel this way, but he couldn't fight it. He could see it all. He could remember _everything_.

Walter's chest tightened as he stared at his desk, his lungs heaving for air. He greedily sucked in oxygen, the small bag in his hand slipping from his fingers and dropping to the floor. His vision seemed to wobble and spin, the image of water splattered across the concrete flashing through his mind.

His legs instantly felt weak as he grew lightheaded, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Desperate, he quickly headed for the nearest seat, falling into the chair and immediately dropping his head into his hands as the crutch clattered to the floor.

Memories surged through his brain as he squeezed his eyes shut, his hands wound tightly in his hair. Water. Torches. Knives. It came rushing back like water from a fire hydrant.

He felt sick. He could feel the heat rising in the back of his throat and quickly moved to grab a garbage can as white hot pain from his leg spiked through his body. As soon as he had a hold on a proper receptacle, he promptly emptied the contents of his stomach into the empty bin.

Weak and in pain, he shakily sat himself on the floor, leaning against an unknown desk as he dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. Walter brought his bent legs close to his chest, resting his elbows tiredly on his knees as he continued to cover his eyes.

Why? Why wouldn't it go away? Why wouldn't it let him go?

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Paige was torn between sheer panic and overwhelming frustration. When she'd gone to pick up Walter from the hospital, she was horrified to learn he'd left of his own volition an hour prior.

So, she decided to look in the one place she thought he'd go: the garage.

"Move your ass!" she shouted, stamping her hand on the horn as she wildly drove through the usual morning traffic. "Move!"

The thought of him in the garage frightened her. She wasn't sure he was ready to face the location of his recent trauma, certain it would dreg up dangerous emotions. Paige was supposed to take him to her place to stay with her while Toby slowly reintroduced him to his regular routine. Walter shouldn't be there. He just shouldn't.

She hadn't called anyone about Walter's disappearance yet, far too invested in her personal mission. Paige vaguely wondered if she should warn Toby, but thought better of it as she swerved to avoid a puttering jalopy in her path. She should probably keep all of her attention ahead.

She was close now, deep in familiar territory as she ripped through the regular roadways. It was a miracle she hadn't been pulled over yet, but she didn't think too much on it.

Paige had to get to Walter. That's all that mattered.

She knew Walter was determined to ignore the lingering effects of his trauma, eager to return to normalcy. Every effort to help or soothe him had been met with mild disdain and a polite insistence that he was fine.

But, he didn't see what she did.

He seemed to grow more tired with every passing day, moving restlessly when he managed a little sleep. Even when he was awake, he'd sometimes stare emptily at the wall, his eyes haunted and shadowed. He was broken; he just hadn't seen it for himself yet.

Paige turned down the garage's street, stopping abruptly in front of the familiar brick building. Quickly, she threw the car in park and shot out of the driver seat as she bolted to the garage's door. Panicked, she pushed it open, stopping as her eyes fell on the abandoned bag on the floor.

Slowly, she stepped inside, eyes carefully moving toward the cluster of desks.

She froze.

"Oh, Walter," she huffed, moving swiftly towards the hunched figure on the floor. Small, soft hands gingerly met his shoulder. "Walter, I'm here."

He was huddled against Sylvester's desk, hands harshly pressed against his eyes as he curled into himself. Paige's heart broke a little.

"Walter?" she tried, quietly combing gentle fingers through his hair. "Walter, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, curling further within himself. "I can still see it," he whispered, the sound strained. "I can still smell it."

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she moved a little closer. "Smell what, Walter?"

There was a beat of silence in the dim garage, morning light streaming through the dirty windows.

"The torch," he croaked, his voice low. Paige grew still at his response, swallowing thickly as her hands covered his. She hadn't known the details. Walter had never said, and she'd never asked.

"It's okay, Walter. It's over. Nothing's going to happen to you," she promised, gently prying his fingers away from his face. "You're safe now."

Walter stared somberly at the floor, his eyes red and haunted as his hands were peeled away. Paige could almost see the demons in his dark orbs, louder and crueler than before.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered, still clinging to his hands.

His gaze shot to hers, the look in his eyes practically tearing her heart to pieces. Quickly, he flicked his stare towards the floor, shaking his head abruptly.

She suppressed a sigh, feeling helpless against the willpower of a stubborn genius. "Can you stand up?"

He thought about it for a moment, closing his eyes tightly. "I…I don't know," he muttered, pressing a shaky hand over his face.

Paige watched him carefully, ignoring the burn of tears. He was still trembling, but desperately trying to suppress it. She knew he didn't like to feel weak. During the first case after his accident, he'd been reluctant to admit he wasn't quite one-hundred percent. But, physical hardships were one thing. For someone like Walter to not have complete control over his mind…it must've been frightening.

"Okay, Walter," Paige soothed, digging her phone out of her pocket. "I'm just going to call Toby and then we'll see about getting you upstairs, okay?"

Walter nodded jerkily, still keeping his hand firmly over his face.

Keeping a careful eye on the genius, Paige speed dialed the shrink, pressing the phone against her ear.

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Toby sighed as he poked at his eggs. He didn't much feel like eating, but he wasn't really here for the food.

"They closed Walter's case," Cabe muttered, absently staring at the sausage link speared on the end of his fork. Guess he didn't have much of an appetite either.

Toby looked up at the agent, a frown marring his features. "Did they find anything?"

Cabe had been rather quiet about the case, using the excuse that they didn't need the distraction. Toby had the funny feeling it was because the details would upset the team further.

"The man's name was John Redmond. He lived in an old apartment a couple blocks up the road," Cabe sighed, setting the fork and sausage down on his plate. "Turns out he had schizophrenia. His doctor said he hadn't seen him for months, and somewhere along the way, he'd stopped taking his medication."

Toby shook his head. "That's a bad way to be."

"As far as we can tell, he seemed to think the government was out to get him. For what, we don't know, but he had tapes, documents, newspaper clippings, photos… Some of them were about us. About our team," Cabe paused, taking a long drink of his coffee. "Must've thought we were working to find him."

Toby was silent for a long while. He wanted to be angry, but the psychiatrist in him couldn't be. Schizophrenia would be difficult to live with, even with the help of doctors and treatments. It would be even more difficult if you didn't have the right medication and your brain couldn't lead you to the help you needed.

"Poor bastard," he muttered, taking a deep breath.

"He'd been watching the garage on a regular basis, especially Walter," Cabe sighed. "But, Homeland has determined it to be an isolated incident. We shouldn't expect anything else to stem from this."

Toby stared down at his meal with disinterest. "Thanks for telling me."

Cabe leaned back in his seat, his gaze drifting out the window. "I thought you should know."

Toby nodded, closing his eyes. "Are you going to tell the rest of the team?"

Cabe thought about it for a moment, pressing his lips together. He picked up his fork again, toying with the utensil as he pushed his food around. "Eventually, but I don't think they'd understand quite like you do."

Toby said nothing, staring down at his quickly cooling eggs. Cabe was probably right. Maybe Paige could handle the situation reasonably, but the information would upset Sylvester and enrage Happy. It would be best to tell them when the pain wasn't quite so fresh.

He nearly jumped when he felt a familiar buzz in his pant pocket, frowning a little. He slid his phone out of his pocket, staring down at the screen. Paige.

Paige.

With a deep breath, he took the call, glancing up at Cabe.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" he asked, a frightful buzz already settling into his bones. The two of them had agreed that Walter should stay with Paige for the time being and that Toby would meet her there after Walter had some time to settle in.

But this was far too early. It wasn't right.

 _"Hi, Toby. Could you meet me at the garage?"_

Toby rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "Why…why are you at the garage?" Not good. So not good.

 _"Walter left the hospital before I got there,"_ she muttered softly, her tone gentle. Walter must've been nearby. _"I found him here, and…he could use an extra friend."_

Toby inhaled deeply to still his fluttering heart, staring across the table at the worried agent. "I'll be there in ten," he mumbled, promptly hanging up and shoving his phone back into his pocket. He dug a few crumpled bills from his other pocket, slapping them on the table.

"Sorry to cut this so short," Toby murmured, hastily grabbing his fedora off the table.

"Is he okay?" Cabe asked, a glimmer of paternal worry in his eyes.

Toby stilled for a moment, opening his mouth as he quickly gathered his thoughts. "I don't know yet," he replied, glancing at the older man before slipping out of the booth and quickly exiting the diner.

He wasn't sure he even wanted to know.


	5. Broken

_Author's Note: Hey, hi! Yup. At it again with the delays. I'm really sorry. Again, I got nervous about this chapter. I was a little worried it wouldn't be perfect, so I hope you all like it. Also, as always, please review if you've got a moment! Thanks for reading and sticking with me. You guys are wonderful. I love the reviews I get and I sometimes go back and reread them to get the creative juices flowing. You're all amazing._

 _ **In response to a rather abrupt question about why writers post such short, incomplete stories and then take forever to update them:** I can list numerous reasons for both of these practices if you'd like, but I won't volunteer them without invitation, as that would be a very long explanation. For the most part, we post incomplete stories and sometimes take awhile to update them because writing fanfiction is, unfortunately, just a hobby. We don't get paid for this, and we do have other responsibilities that can override our obsessive need to write and imagine. However, if the usual practices of fanfiction writers frustrate you, then I recommend only searching for complete stories. I do this often when I want to just sit and read a fanfiction from beginning to end in one sitting, and it can be easily done by using the handy filter that has been so graciously provided for us._

 **5\. Broken**

Paige slowly took a deep breath, carefully setting her phone on Sylvester's desk. The relief from how soon Toby would be here was immediately snuffed out by her anxiety. Walter was still suffering, and there seemed to be little she could do for him. She felt somewhat useless, no matter her contribution.

"Okay, Walter. Why don't we get you upstairs?" Paige suggested softly, settling a small hand on his shoulder. She frowned when she smelled the slight scent of sick, looking around until she spotted the trash can nearby. Her stare lingered for awhile as she tried to keep her rising concern in check.

Walter was a mess.

Slowly, she returned her gaze back to the genius. "I'm…I'm just going to get your crutch," she mumbled quietly. "And then we'll get you upstairs and maybe make you some soup, okay?"

He shook his head immediately, taking the hand off his face as he swallowed thickly. "Not hungry."

"Alright," she breathed sweetly, trying to stay positive for his sake, "we'll just focus on getting you upstairs." She gracefully moved to grab the fallen crutch, returning swiftly to the huddled genius. "How should we do this?"

He was quiet for a moment, keeping his eyes on the floor as his hands clenched into fists. Paige gave him time, merely waiting until he was ready. She'd had a lot of patience lately, but it wasn't with any ire. She could wait. Walter deserved at least that much from her.

"I…" he croaked, clearing his throat as his gaze shifted to his knees. "I can't look at it."

Without another word, she knew what he meant. Her heart sank as she shifted her gaze to his desk, a tight ache in her chest. She swallowed over a lump of emotion, returning her eyes to the traumatized genius.

"I can't look at it," he repeated, his voice a whisper.

"You don't have to," she replied softly, forcing a comforting smile. "Just look straight ahead and we'll get you upstairs, okay?"

Walter swallowed thickly, his skin paling considerably as he nodded.

Paige helped him stand, slow and steady as she carefully tucked his crutch under his arm. It took some time, as Walter's movement were crippled by lingering injuries and pain.

"Now we're just going to focus on getting upstairs, okay?" Paige coached quietly, keeping a gentle hand on his back as she guided him towards the steps. Walter kept his eyes on the floor, blinking harshly against the familiar concrete. Paige noticed his distress, softly patting him on the shoulder to remind him she was there. "Take your time, okay?"

Walter walked stiffly, tense with the persistent memories of the garage. As they reached the steps, he took each one with slow, deliberate steps.

"You're doing great, Walter," Paige soothed, rubbing his back with soft circles. She frowned as she read the mix of emotions on the genius's face. He felt ashamed; he felt scared. The worst of it all was he was trying to pretend everything was normal. He wasn't having a lot of success, but he was still trying.

She said nothing else as they ascended the remaining steps, carefully watching every wince as he took a step with his bad leg. He'd refused heavier painkillers, saying something about them messing with his head. She wished he'd rethink his decision.

When they finally made it past the last step, Paige carefully guided him to the old couch, gently urging him to sit as she slipped into the seat beside him.

"See? Not so bad," she mumbled. "I know you're not hungry, but do you think you can get a few mouthfuls of soup down?"

Walter shrugged, staring blankly at the floor as he took a deep breath.

Paige was quiet for a minute, sorrowfully looking Walter over. "I'll warm up a bowl and then we'll see how you feel," she offered quietly. He said nothing, dark eyes still focused on the grain of the old hardwood.

Pursing her lips worriedly, Paige silently stood from her seat, tucking her hair behind her ear. With one last lingering look at the genius, she turned to head towards the kitchen.

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Toby skidded his car to a stop in front of the garage. To say he was worried was an understatement. Throwing his car into park, he slipped from the driver's seat, quickly stepping towards the door as he readjusted his hat. He pressed his weight against the metal, pushing the door open with a squeak.

"Paige?" he called, striding into the common area with purpose. He looked up just as Paige appeared at the top of the stairs. Even at a glance, he could see the tense lines of concern shadowing her features.

He quickly climbed the steps, glancing at the familiar head of dark curls before turning his attention back to Paige.

"I think he had something of a flashback," she whispered softly. "He was…he was sitting against Sylvester's desk when I found him. He was just kind of…curled up with his face covered." She looked over at Walter, the subtle fear glistening in her soft eyes. "He…he threw up and he's not hungry. Hasn't said much."

Toby's gaze shifted to look at Walter, absorbing the way the genius was hunched over, stiff and unmoving. It was like he was trying to ignore everything around him, but failing miserably.

With a small grateful nod to Paige, Toby slowly stepped towards the troubled genius. Images from that wretched night shifted through the shrink's brain, blood and water bleeding into his mind's eye. That night had been a terrifying enough for the good doctor; he could only imagine what Walter had experienced.

Toby had previously tried to gently coax Walter into talking about it, but the genius had bluntly refused time and time again. However, based on Walter's wounds and what Toby had seen for himself, he could piece together some idea of what had happened that night. The shrink vaguely wondered when Walter broke.

He wondered _what_ broke Walter.

Quiet and solemn, Toby sunk slowly onto the couch, turning his eyes to the genius. Walter was still staring blankly at the floor, gaze empty and tortured. As Toby stared, he could hear Paige quietly move towards the kitchen area.

"Talk to me, buddy," Toby mumbled. His exhaustion bled into his words, creating a mild plea. He'd spent far too many sleepless nights reliving that late evening.

Walter took a slow, deep breath, closing his eyes as he hung his head. He looked more vulnerable than Toby had ever seen him, clearly lost as to what to do.

"I don't…" Walter shook his head. "It's illogical, this…fear."

"No, Walter, this is normal," Toby replied calmly, taking off his hat. "With what you went through, it's normal to have lingering feelings about this."

Walter slid his gaze to Toby's, that frightening mix of frustration and absolute pain swirling in his dark eyes. "I can still see it. All of it."

Toby kept his stare on the genius, boring into those tortured eyes. "What do you see, Walt? Talk to me. Help me understand."

Walter quickly flicked his gaze back to the floor, his hands tightly clasped together. He was silent for several minutes, letting his thoughts swirl through his head. "He never used his gun," Walter muttered suddenly. "At the beginning, I tried to get away, and he hit me with it to knock me out." He paused, his brow furrowing a little. "But he never used it after that. I still don't understand why."

Toby shrugged a little, suppressing a shiver up his spine. "People are unpredictable, Walt."

"He started with a knife." Walter's eyes seemed to glaze over, staring into the past. Silence fell over the room, a breeze of terror sweeping through the area. Walter was frozen, completely quiet as the nightmare swirled in his brain. Toby worriedly looked at Paige, unsurprised to find her stiffly standing in the kitchen, subtle signs of horror marring her pretty features. Toby turned back to the silent Walter, waiting several minutes for him to speak.

"Talk to me, buddy. What happened next?" Toby urged softly. "Help me understand so I can help you. So _we_ can help you."

Walter's face screwed up into something of immeasurable misery, struggling to fight the rising dread in his chest. He began to breathe heavily through his nose, clenching his eyes shut.

"I don't…I don't…" Walter muttered, shaking his head. Toby wrapped a hand tightly around Walter's forearm, attempting to bring him back to the present.

"Walter, just help me understand. I want to help you," Toby pleaded. Sweat was beginning to glisten on Walter's face, his color paling a little. Toby gave Walter's forearm a reassuring squeeze. "Please, Walter."

Walter slowly turned his head towards Toby, dark pools of pain and fear staring into the shrink's own eyes. Abruptly, Walter turned away, his gaze falling back to the floor. He anxiously twisted his hands together, interlocking the fingers as he pulled and stretched them.

"He…he wanted to know what I'd told them," Walter muttered softly, his voice strained and quiet. "When I…When I told him I didn't know who he was talking about, he…stabbed me." Walter's gaze flicked to his bad leg, his eyes briefly glancing at the affected thigh before returning to the floor. "He stabbed me a few times."

Toby's brow furrowed at Walter's story, a protective anger bubbling in his chest.

Walter took a deep breath, his expression hardening. "And then he decided that wasn't good enough. He decided I needed…something worse to make me talk."

Toby heard a soft whimper from Paige's direction, but resisted the urge to look. His attention was on Walter now. He needed to focus on Walter.

Walter was quiet for a long while, gaze glued to the floor as his hands twisted and pulled at each other. "While he was gone, I managed to get my phone out of my pocket and call Cabe. But then…then I dropped it when he came back, and I kicked it under the desk. I didn't even know if Cabe answered." He was breathing heavily through his nose again, wiping his forehead with a shaky hand as he blinked harshly. "The knife was painful…but the torch…" He paused, swallowing thickly as he closed his eyes.

From the corner of his eye, Toby saw Paige anxiously take a seat.

"I couldn't lie," Walter croaked, his voice cracking. "But it didn't matter to him." Watery dark eyes turned to Toby's, making Walter look smaller and more fragile than the shrink had ever seen him. He was damaged. Broken by the experience.

"He water boarded me, Toby," Walter whispered, the words tight as if balancing on the edge of a sob. "I _tried_ to lie, but he didn't believe me. I thought that was how I was going to die. I _wanted_ to die. I just…" Walter dropped his face into his hands, a quiet whimper slipping out of his lungs. "I just wanted it to be over."

A pressing silence sunk over the room, Walter's shaky breathing being the only disturbance. Toby's chest ached painfully, his mind struggling to process Walter's confession. Walter had put it so simply, which seemed almost unfit for the genius. Die…? He _wanted_ to die…? The mere thought awoke a new horror in the shrink, joining with the reoccurring nightmare of Walter's blood slipping between Toby's fingers. Yet, somehow, this was more terrifying. Blood, they could replace. Physical wounds, they could stitch. But emotional and mental damage…that was something else. It was more unpredictable, even with Toby's skillset.

Walter slowly slid his hands off his face, returning to the nervous pull and twist of his fingers. "By then, I'd figured Cabe hadn't answered. I assumed I was alone," he croaked, tired eyes staring glassily at the floor. "The odds of success seemed…low, if not nonexistent. I thought death would be a mercy. Something to…put me out of my misery."

Toby could feel a stifling burn in his chest. He was torn between suffocating sorrow and pure anger, the two emotions tearing at his heart. It was painful, and the returning silence just seemed to echo Walter's torturous thoughts.

Walter hung his head, covering his face like he was ashamed of his own fear.

As if on cue, Paige drifted from her seat, swiftly but carefully approaching Walter as her heels softly clacked against the hardwood. She quietly sank into the seat on the other side of Walter, wrapping tender arms around him as she pressed her cheek against his dark curls.

"It's okay, Walter," she crooned, holding him tighter as silent sobs shook his thin frame. "It's over now. It's over." She looked at Toby, their worried eyes meeting. "I'm right here." Her eyes slowly filled with tears as she held Toby's gaze, relaying her fear and her heartache.

"You're not alone, Walter."


	6. Of Sisters and Bitter Realizations

_Author's Note: Hey, all! Yes, yes, I have finally completed another chapter. Alas, another difficult chapter, so I hope I've done it justice. I won't ever abandon this story, but it may take me a bit to finish it; just bear with me. Also, I just wanted to say…ImpalaLeoCap, in regards to your review from a couple chapters ago, I was thinkin' the same thing. Great minds think alike! So, expect things… As for other requests I've gotten regarding this story, I do try to accommodate your suggestions, but sometimes the story just takes me where it wants to go, so I can't make promises. Anyhow, as always, thanks for your patience, and please review if you've got a chance!_

 **6\. Of Sisters and Bitter Realizations**

Toby twirled his hat loosely in his fingers, pursing his lips as he stared out the grimy windows. Paige was checking in on Walter, who had fallen asleep after several hours of nervous distress and fragile emotions. He didn't eat a single spoonful of the soup Paige had prepared and spent most of the time staring into some unseen abyss in the floor.

So, when Walter had finally driven himself into stress-induced exhaustion, Toby did the one thing he could think of: he called a team meeting.

He wasn't really sure how he was going to tell the team. Sure, they had been worried when Walter was in the hospital. Even Happy was concerned by the genius's adamant insistence that he was fine. But, Toby didn't think anyone was prepared for this. He didn't think any of them were prepared to put Walter back together again.

Still, he thought they should know. They should know what to expect; they should know what he'd been through.

Toby jumped when the door to the garage slammed open, Happy barging into the place. He dropped his head as he took a calming breath, his hands gripped tightly to his hat. The shuffling of Happy's boots stopped abruptly, a few seconds of silence rolling through the room.

"You okay, doc?" she asked, her tone strangely unsure.

Toby waved away her concern, sitting up in his seat. "Fine," he muttered. "Just fine."

Happy watched him quietly for a moment, carefully scanning his face. Slowly, she sat in a vacant seat, keeping her eyes on the shrink. A few beats of silence bounced between them. "It's not good, is it?"  
Toby bit his bottom lip as he stared at the floor, tilting his head a little as he absorbed her question. "We'll talk about it when everybody gets here."

Happy jutted her chin out in frustration, fidgeting impatiently in her chair. "Just tell me."

Toby's large eyes moved to meet hers, something soft and vulnerable in his gaze. "I don't think I have it in me to explain it twice."

Happy stared at him for a long while, instantly picking up on the hidden message in his words. She fell silent, her own eyes meeting the concrete at her toes.

Abruptly, Toby stood from his seat, making his way towards the door with a troubled shuffle in his step. Happy kept her eyes on the floor, trying to keep herself from making rash conclusions.

Toby slowed as he came close to the door, leaning against the wall as he twirled his hat in his hands. How was he going to tell them? Hell, how would he tell _Sylvester_?

The door handle jiggled, snapping Toby from his solemn reverie as it slowly swung open. Sylvester slipped in, his posture weary and defeated. His eyes were red and swollen, testifying of a hard day at the hospital. Toby was immediately on alert.

"How's Megan?" he asked softly, Sylvester's head swinging in his direction.

"Uh…she's…she's not doing great," Sylvester muttered, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Toby felt his heart sink; with Walter's fragile state, Megan's condition seemed more terrifying. Her declining health suddenly held so much more than just the prospect of losing a great friend for the cyclone. They wouldn't just lose Megan. Not with Walter like this.

"Hey, kid."

Toby felt an uncharacteristically soft slap on his shoulder as Cabe stepped through the door to the garage. The shrink forced a small, tight smile, eyes roving over the tense postures of his teammates. They knew what they were here for; they just didn't know what to expect. It was lucky that Ralph was still in school for another few hours.

Taking a deep breath, Toby forced himself back into the common area, somewhat relieved to find Paige softly treading down the stairs. He wasn't sure why her presence gave him comfort; perhaps it was just the idea of knowing he didn't have to face the rest of the team alone.

Swallowing thickly, Toby made his way to his desk, casually leaning back onto the edge of the wooden surface. Three pairs of eyes watched him with anxious concern as Paige silently slipped into a seat. What…what was he supposed to say?

He cleared his throat a little, his brow furrowing as he gathered his thoughts.

"Doc, just tell us what's going on," Happy muttered, her voice oddly subdued.

Toby tilted his head to the side, struggling to find the right words. The silence lingered as he pulled himself together, braving the task at hand. "Walter is…having something of a delayed reaction to what happened," he said slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kept his eyes on the floor. "Coming back to the garage kind of…jumpstarted his memories, and he's having a hard time recovering."

"What do you mean 'he's having a hard time recovering'?" Happy mumbled, her voice dangerously low.

Toby bit his lip, shifting uneasily. "He's not himself. He's…emotional. Afraid." Toby paused, his features pinching uneasily. "And, honestly, with what he's told me, I can't blame him." He looked up at the rest of the team, gauging the reactions with a brave eye. Happy was already slipping into that protective rage; Sylvester looked petrified. Cabe, however, was doing his very best to stay composed, even with the underlying shadow of fatherly sorrow.

"What exactly…did he tell you?"

Toby was a tad surprised at Sylvester's question; he didn't think the human calculator would even want to know, being as sensitive as he was.

Sylvester swallowed loudly, eyes still glued to the shrink. "What happened to him, Toby?"

Toby shifted again, readjusting his position against the lip of the desk. While Cabe had intimate knowledge of Walter's case and Toby and Paige had endeavored to help shoulder Walter's burden, Happy and Sylvester were completely in the dark. They'd heard the long list of injuries, but they didn't have a clue what happened in the garage.

Well, except for Happy's torch. When it had been taken for evidence, she'd immediately connected it to Walter's burns. It was now in pieces in some dirty, old dumpster.

Toby sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He could still see the silent terror on the genius's face as Walter helplessly battled his own demons.

"The short version is that he was interrogated for information he didn't have," Toby muttered, his tone even and dull. "He was held captive, stabbed, burned, water boarded…" And he gave up, Toby thought. Walter _wanted_ to give up. "Point is, he's going to be…fragile for awhile. He needs support, but subtlety is key. He desperately wants things to return to normal. Coddling him too much may only make him feel worse about himself and his situation."

Toby paused, staring off into some darker void as his body sagged wearily.

"He thought he was going to die alone," he murmured quietly, each word providing a small glimpse into that wretched night. The statement struck something painful within each team member as unbidden images of Walter trying to withstand the torture alone infiltrated their minds.

As if remembering himself, Toby suddenly perked up, eyes bright to mask his darker feelings. "But, again, subtlety is key. Don't coddle him. Don't suffocate him with your concern."

Everyone stared at him, unsure of how to respond as they quietly looked at each other.

After a couple minutes of silence, Sylvester fidgeted in his spot, looking at Toby with those nervous, soft eyes. "What about Megan?" Toby stifled his growing apprehension. "You know, she's not…she's not doing so well and she's been asking for Walter."

"I think it would be a good idea for Walter to go see her," Paige said quietly. "Especially if she's not doing very well."

Toby took a deep breath through his nose as his innards shifted uncomfortably. Ultimately, Walter should visit Megan. Still, it could be potentially damaging to both the genius and his sister. If one of the O'Brien siblings couldn't be strong, the other would step up for them both, but in this case, neither one of them had the strength to support the other. Each of them would feel guilty for not being enough for their sibling in their time of need. They'd feel weak and helpless.

Yet, Toby had no right to keep the man from his diminishing sister. Walter had to see her. Even if it was just to say he was with her for her final days.

"You're right," Toby sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "You're absolutely right."

Paige smiled softly at Sylvester. "When he wakes up, we'll see if he's feeling up to visiting her."

Toby pursed his lips, flicking his gaze to Cabe's. The agent returned his stare with a steely wave of concern, but all Toby could do was gently shake his head.

This would be one of the hardest challenges the team would ever face.

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Water was staring at the ceiling. He hadn't slept long, his dreams being plagued by visions of water and fire and suffocation by the growing shadows of loneliness. He'd woken with a start, glassy eyes gazing emptily at the eggshell ceiling with the familiar flatness of his mattress beneath him.

But even as the horror drifted away into a tense thump against his ribs, he wasn't thinking about formulas or rocket science. Nor was he thinking about team efficiency or his next big project. He was thinking about his own vulnerability. About how lying alone in his own familiar bedroom was both terrifying and suffocating. Yet, he couldn't help himself. He didn't know how.

Vaguely, he marveled at how easily he could draw breath into his lungs, despite the burning and cutting pains of his injuries. It reduced the terror of solitude a little, but the unease still clung to his chest with a sort of stubborn desperation he couldn't fend off.

He was silently relieved when the door gently creaked open.

"Walter?"

Paige.

"Walter, are you awake?"

He hummed hoarsely in the affirmative, eyes still glued to the empty ceiling. Walter heard the familiar clack of her heels against the floor, certain warmth blossoming in his core when he felt the bed dip at the edge.

"I have some bad news," Paige nearly whispered, her voice delicate and tender. Walter frowned, the warmth slipping away as a sudden chill took its placed. Hesitantly, Paige continued. "Megan hasn't been well and she's been asking for you." Walter's breath stopped as a beat of silence leapt away. "Do you think you'd like to visit?"

Without a word, Walter moved to sit up, ignoring Paige's quiet, frantic concern. He could feel the pain of his injuries jolting through his flesh, but he didn't care.

"Walter, take it easy," Paige urged, hovering worriedly. He silently shook his head.

"My research…" he mumbled forlornly, his dark brows knitting together as his brain struggled to process the new information. "I haven't…I haven't finished my research."

Paige opened her mouth, taking a moment to carefully construct her reply.

"Walter, I know this is hard…but maybe it's better to just spend time with Megan. It would mean more to her," Paige suggested softly, settling a gentle hand on his. "She knows you tried, and I'm sure she appreciates your effort. But she understands. I think she just wants to see her brother."

Walter's thoughts seemed to swirl dangerously in his mind, making it difficult for him to focus on anything. His head hurt. His chest burned.

Walter dropped his head into his hand, squeezing his eyes shut as his head was constantly bombarded with his nightmares and fears. He felt overwhelmed, swallowed up by his own demons.

"Walter?" Paige mumbled, curling her fingers around his hand. "Are you alright?"

He couldn't remember what it meant to be alright. The word seemed so empty and useless now. It felt like the world was determined to crumble around him, and his usual methods of distraction held no appeal. He was too tired for an adrenaline rush, and his head was too crowded for fruitful research.

But, Megan…he'd committed to researching her condition and finding a cure. He'd committed to it, and he was failing.

"Walter, just go see her," Paige encouraged quietly, that silent worry flitting nervously in her eyes. "Whatever you're thinking, just go see her."

Walter sat limply on the bed, his arms resting loosely in his lap. "Fine," he murmured as he pursed his lips ever so slightly. "I'll go see her."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sylvester snuck a sideways glance at Walter, fingering the bandage around his ring finger. Things had started to go poorly for Megan while Walter was in the hospital, which had pushed the genius into making some desperate decisions for his sister. While the intubation hadn't seemed like a big deal to Walter, it was for Megan, and Sylvester couldn't stand by and watch her suffer like that. Even after a serious talk with Walter, he couldn't sway the stubborn genius's decision.

So, Sylvester took a brave step for the woman he loved: he married her.

However, when Walter was notified that Megan would no longer be intubated, it had forced Sylvester into an awkward position. While Paige was absent, Sylvester courageously confessed to Walter what he had done and why. He'd expected an almost burning rage from the genius, but had instead received a silent, subdued anger. Walter didn't say a word after that, only staring down at his lap with dark eyes and a furrowed brow. Sylvester had known from that moment that something was different about Walter.

While the team now knew about the marriage, they didn't know about the quiet conflict between Sylvester and Walter. Sylvester had kept the discussion to himself and Walter hadn't been much for talking these days.

Even now, as the team made their way to the hospital, Walter was silent.

Sylvester had been stunned to see the drastic change in Walter's demeanor from the last time Sylvester saw him. Their normally confident, determined leader had been reduced to an empty, defeated shell of what he once was. Dull, unfocused eyes were constantly staring down at the floor, dark circles smeared wearily beneath them. His normally upright posture had dwindled to a steady, meek slouch, as if Walter was trying to be as small as possible.

It pained Sylvester to see Walter this way, especially during such a trying time.

The SUV slowed to a stop at the front of the hospital, allowing Walter to more easily get out of the car. Paige slipped from the passenger seat and onto the sidewalk, quickly turning to tug Walter's door open. Sylvester nervously got out of the car, carefully retrieving Walter's crutch from the floor of the vehicle. Walking quickly, he made his way around the car, handing Paige the crutch as he anxiously stood by.

Sylvester watched silently as Walter painfully slid from his seat. The genius seemed to wince with every movement, trying uselessly to suppress each grimace. When he finally managed to get on the sidewalk and tuck the crutch under his arm, he looked strangely older and paler. Sylvester was ashamed to say he'd never noticed how much pain Walter was in. When Walter was in the hospital, trapped under crisp sheets and a hospital gown, it was easy to forget what kind of injuries he'd sustained.

Looking ahead, Walter seemed to steel himself for the upcoming journey and encounter, hobbling towards the hospital with the little stubbornness he had left. Paige and Sylvester followed as the SUV pulled away, both ready to react if anything happened.

Walter led the arduous trek to Megan's room, slowly and painfully making his way down the bright hallways. The three of them were silent, focusing on the path ahead as the atmosphere seemed to grow tenser and tenser by the second.

Sylvester's heart was beating frantically against his sternum when they finally came to Megan's room. Walter paused for a moment in the doorway, hanging his head as he white-knuckled the crutch at his side. Taking a quick deep breath, the genius pressed onward, limping wearily into his sister's room.

Paige was kind enough to let Sylvester into the room first, but he wasn't even sure he wanted to witness this particular sibling reunion. Reluctantly, he trudged inside, standing idly by as he watched Megan slowly open her eyes and look at Walter.

"Oh, Walter," she rasped, her face weakly twitching in sorrow. Sylvester swallowed thickly. He'd told Megan a little about Walter's injuries, but nothing could've prepared her for her brother's current appearance.

Walter gingerly sat on her bed, setting aside his crutch with an almost reverent kind of movement. "I'm fine," he assured her dully, offering a weak and unconvincing smile.

"Walter," she whispered, her dark eyes soft. "You look awful."

He said nothing, simply staring down at his lap to avoid her gaze. She appraised him slowly, tears collecting in her eyes as they traced the fading black eye.

"What happened?" she croaked, her voice weak. Walter furrowed his brow, his lips pressing together as a few moments of silence slipped by.

"Your research…I didn't get the chance…" he muttered, closing his eyes as he took a few deep breaths. Sylvester's heart ached at the image.

"I don't…" Megan took as deep of a breath as she could manage, eyes glued to her brother. "I'm more worried about you, Walter." Walter braved a look at his sister, the dark orbs swirling with silent struggles and pain. Megan blinked away her tears, letting the stray moisture slip down her face. "What happened?"

In a moment, Walter's last bit of resilience seemed to abandon him, a more vulnerable expression bleeding into his features. Silently, he covered his face with one hand and bowed his head, as if he was ashamed of his weakness.

Sylvester looked away, his chest tight. He couldn't stand to see Walter so broken, nor could he stand to see the pain in Megan's eyes. She wanted to help Walter, but with her weakness, there was little she could do on her own.

"Sylvester," she called weakly with tears in her eyes, "will you help me?"

Sylvester instantly knew what she wanted, taking a few steps forward. Carefully, he helped her sit up and gingerly wrapped her arms around her brother. It was the closest thing she could offer to a hug, even though it wasn't much of an embrace. Walter quickly wound his own arms around her, if only to keep her from falling. However, there was a certain quiet gratitude in his actions as he held his sister, despite the throbbing pain from his shoulder and abdomen.

"Walter, I'm sorry," Megan whispered, her chin resting on his shoulder. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

Walter visibly swallowed, burying the lower half of his face into her shoulder. The two of them stayed that way for several silent moments while Paige and Sylvester solemnly looked on. Walter seemed to melt into his sister's weak embrace, dark eyes dull but vulnerable.

In a few, slow seconds, Walter's eyebrows stitched together as he further buried his face into her shoulder. For a minute or two, nothing seemed to change. Then Sylvester noticed how Walter's thin frame silently shook in his sister's weak arms.

Sylvester's eyes suddenly burned. For as long as he could remember, Walter had always turned to anger in times of hardship, whether it was a silent or vocal rage. But, Walter had rarely turned to sorrow. He'd rarely succumbed to something so fragile and telling.

And, for a moment, Sylvester was frightened that Walter wouldn't come back from this.

He looked to Paige, somewhat terrified to see her absorb the scene with an almost uncomfortable familiarity. This wasn't new to her.

So, Walter was broken.

Sylvester shifted uncomfortably as he swallowed the bitter realization. From the corner of his eye, he could see the rest of the team waiting respectfully in the doorway, Toby looking away completely while Happy and Cabe reluctantly took in the scene before them.

Sylvester looked down at his shoes, trying to hold back the bubbling anxiety in his chest. It wasn't fair. Even if Walter was sometimes unfair or harsh, he never deserved this. For every moment the genius seemed to lack sympathy, there was another two to testify of his selflessness. Sylvester knew without a doubt that Walter would've done everything in his power to protect his team if they'd been in the garage with him that night. But they hadn't. Walter had been alone.

Like Toby said, he thought he was going to die alone. Sylvester couldn't even fathom what it felt like to stare death in the face, but if he did, he wanted to be surrounded by everyone who had ever meant anything to him. Not alone. Not with the man that was intent on draining his life little by little.

For the first time in his life, Sylvester had the burning desire to be strong for Walter. To return the strength the genius had given him over the years.

To be for Walter what Walter had always been for him.


	7. Loss

_Author's Note: Helloooo. I have finally finished another chapter. After a week's vacation that I desperately needed, I feel refreshed and renewed. Alas, read on. This chapter may be very sad for some of you…I hope it's not too overwhelming. Good reading, all! And please review if you've got a chance; I like to hear from you guys._

 **7\. Loss**

Cabe peered through the doorway into Megan's dimly lit room. Paige had reluctantly left a few hours ago to pick up Ralph and take him home for the evening, promising to return in the morning as soon as she was able. As for the rest of the team, Toby and Happy left when Toby realized there wasn't much he could do for Walter at the moment, and Sylvester only left after Cabe had adamantly ordered him to go home and get some sleep.

So, that just left Cabe.

Megan had already fallen asleep for the night, leaving Walter alone at her bedside. The genius sat as close as the chair would permit, his crutch abandoned in the corner. He was currently staring at the floor, his elbow balancing on a knee with his mouth resting on a loose fist. Cabe could tell the boy was hurting, even when he pretended not to.

Taking a deep breath, Cabe pursed his lips together and stepped into the room. "Hey, kid."

Walter's eyes slowly slid to look at the older agent, his movements dull and sluggish.

Cabe pretended not to notice. "Mind if I sit with you for awhile?" He pulled up a chair as Walter gave a small shrug, sliding into the seat as he glanced at Megan. "How're you holding up?"

Walter didn't say anything, dropping his dark gaze to the floor. Cabe gave him a moment to answer, settling into his chair as he carefully watched the young genius.

Slowly, Walter pulled his hand away from his face, dropping it in his lap as he sat up a little more. "Cabe?" His eyes didn't move from the floor, his hands loosely finding solace in one another as they wound together.

"Yeah, son?" Cabe replied softly, watching Walter with courage. Courage to face what might be ahead.

"What if I can't get past this?"

"You will get past this," Cabe answered suddenly, unwilling to let the idea linger for too long. Walter looked at him, that black doubt in his eyes. Cabe didn't waver. "You will."

Walter looked down at his lap, his mouth opening a little as he carefully stitched together his thoughts. "The garage…I can't…It won't ever be the same."

Cabe shifted in his seat, releasing a heavy sigh. "Maybe it won't be the same," he muttered. "But it doesn't have to be all bad."

Walter shot him a curious look, a brief glimpse of the old Walter glittering in his dull eyes. Cabe almost smiled.

"It's about perspective, kid," Cabe replied, raising his eyebrows. "You could see that night as a moment of fear and bad luck, or you could see it as a moment of strength and perseverance."

"I would hardly call that night a victory," Walter mumbled bitterly, his own brow furrowing at his weakness.

Cabe crossed his arms over his chest. "I would. You're alive, aren't you?" Walter looked at him with something akin to disagreement, but said nothing. "Even in a situation like that, you used your head. You used the resources you had when lesser men would've given up." Water's gaze softened, as if properly mulling over the agent's words. Cabe huffed. "You didn't give up; you fought."

Walter swallowed thickly, tilting his head a little. "But, I did give up, in the end," he murmured.

"You didn't give up when it mattered," Cabe countered. "No one can blame you for those last few moments. Most men couldn't endure what you did for as long as you did. But, when you saw there was a problem, you faced it and you did everything in your power. You held on for as long as you could; you _fought_ for as long as you could. There's no shame in that, and there's no shame in depending on the people around you for a little help."

Walter thought about that for a moment, his shoulders slumping a little. Slowly, he shook his head, his hands nervously weaving together. "They look to me. I'm supposed to be their leader."  
Cabe leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared boldly into Walter's eyes. Reluctantly, Walter met his gaze, a glimmer of a stronger version of himself in his dark orbs.

"They don't expect you to be strong all the time," Cabe replied quietly. "And they want to help you. You take all these responsibilities on yourself, but they're more than willing to help carry the burden. You expect more out of yourself than they do. Sure, they look to you, but they also respect you and care about you." Cabe leaned back in his seat again, not breaking eye contact. "You're not just a leader, kid. You're a friend too."

Walter's gaze shifted to Megan, his face growing darker as he looked on. "I was supposed to save her." A bitter silence seemed to slip into the room, pooling around Walter's feet.

"I don't think Megan ever held you to that," Cabe muttered. "I think she was happy just to be with you. She was always happiest when she was with you."

Walter's expression softened a little, the dark shadows still etched into his features. "She has Sylvester now."

Cabe frowned. "She has both of you; there's no reason for her to choose one or the other."

"I failed her," Walter lamented, bowing his head a little. "Sylvester's given her everything she wanted."

Cabe watched the young genius with careful eyes, absorbing the shadow of shame on Walter's face. "Walter, I don't think you could ever fail Megan, even if you tried. She thinks the world of you, and I don't see any reason for that to change now."

Walter looked at him, that dull look quickly overtaking his features. The very expression unnerved Cabe, as if the Walter he knew was slowly crumbling away.

"Look, Walter," Cabe huffed, shifting in his seat. "I may not know you like Megan does, but from what I know, you're not just a smart kid. You're thoughtful and you care, even if you don't always realize it. You choose what's right when it matters and you don't back down from a challenge. You're not just a leader because you're smart; you're a leader because you're unafraid to think fast and take responsibility. If that's what I know from the short time I've known you, what do you think Megan knows? If I'm proud to know you, then what kind of pride does Megan have for being your sister?"

Walter seemed to contemplate the idea for a moment, an almost doubtful glint in his eyes.

"Walter," Cabe said firmly, forcing Walter to meet him in the eye with an almost painful reluctance. "Megan is proud of you. She cherishes every minute she spent with you; being a part of her life was more than enough for her."  
For a moment, Walter held Cabe's stare, his eyes slowly filling with tears. Suddenly ashamed of the public display of emotion, Walter dropped his gaze, clearing his throat. His head tilted to the side as he pressed his lips together and blinked hard against the salty moisture. He rubbed restlessly at his eyes, his posture withdrawing into himself.

When he spoke again, his voice was tight with emotion, fighting past the tears.

"What am I going to do when Megan's gone?" he croaked, covering his eyes as his head bowed under emotional burden. "How am I going to live without her?"

Cabe's heart shattered into a thousand pieces, the fatherly figure within him mourning with Walter. Without even thinking about it, Cabe pulled his chair as close to Walter's as he could and reached out to hold the grieving genius. Walter immediately fell into his embrace, desperately seeking comfort in a difficult time.

Cabe found himself blinking back the burn in his own eyes.

"It's alright, kid," he muttered, thinking back to the day he'd first met Walter. Even then, when staring into the eyes of a child, he'd known what kind of strength the genius harbored.

Cabe had never seen _this_ coming.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sylvester swallowed thickly as he stared into Megan's room. His regular morning discussion with her doctors had been dire and gray. With somber expressions, they gently explained how much Megan's health had declined. It was only a matter of time, they said. It could only be hours until her suffering would finally come to an end.

He stared down at the bandage on his finger, his mind not only turning to his wife, but also his brother-in-law. For two days, Walter had refused to leave his sister's side, growing thinner and more tired with each passing earth rotation. When Megan was awake, he tried his best to hold a decent conversation, but when she wasn't, he quickly retreated into silence.

Sylvester blinked back the wandering tears in his eyes, determined to be a pillar of strength for Walter. Because today could be the day.

Today could be the day Megan leaves.

And while Sylvester had made peace with that from the beginning, he knew Walter wasn't quite ready. Even now, Sylvester knew Walter was thinking about his research. Still thinking of ways he could save her, even if he understood that his time had run out.

With a deep breath for strength, Sylvester stepped into the room, putting on a small, optimistic smile.

"Hey," he greeted cheerfully, glancing between the two O'Brien siblings. It was one of the rare moments Megan was awake, trying to make the most of her last moments. Walter wore a tired smile, doing his best to cover up how he was really feeling.

Yet, Sylvester could see sorrowful knowing in the subtle lines of the genius's face. Even before Sylvester could tell him, Walter knew. He knew his time with his sister was growing far too short.

Walter's pretend smile was possibly the most heartbreaking expression Sylvester had ever witnessed.

"Hey, Sly," Walter greeted softly. His voice was rough, evidence of too little sleep for an already broken man.

Megan offered a greeting of her own, but it came out in the smallest of whispers. Sylvester had to quickly reign in the emotions swelling in his chest, forcing a smile as he subtly blinked back moisture. She was so beautiful. Even with a sickly complexion and a thinning face, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. And she'd be gone. Soon, she'd be gone.

If this is how he felt, he could only imagine how Walter felt.

When everyone else treated Walter like an outcast, Megan had been his only friend. Through a whole childhood of his own parents' quiet rejection, Megan had been there for Walter.

How would it be to lose the one positive constant in all his years?

For a moment, Sylvester's eyes met Walter's, a silent message passing between them. The look in Walter's dark orbs was strangely telling, even behind a tired grin. It spoke of quiet reluctance and subtle fear. And suddenly it all became horrifyingly clear.

This was it; their time was up. It wasn't hours; it was minutes.

The very realization hit Sylvester like a ton of bricks. All this time, he'd been hoping for the best, hoping she'd hold out longer than anyone had expected. But, Walter…Walter saw everything in a realistic light. There was no doubt he'd watched his sister's slow decline and knew it was only a matter of time. There were no rose-colored glasses for Walter. There was only what was right in front of him, and what was right in front of him was unbearably clear.

Megan's light was about to be extinguished.

"Sylvester," Megan rasped, reaching for him with her gaze, "come here."

As the human calculator looked into her soft, brown eyes, he could see the acceptance of her fate in her weary orbs. She knew how much time was left. They all knew it. You could suddenly feel it in the air.

Sylvester heard quiet whispering at the door and glanced up at his arriving teammates. His chest quickly grew cold as he turned back to Megan, his optimism quickly sliding off his face. Without hesitation, he stepped to her bedside, taking her lax hand in one of his.

"I love you," she whispered softly, smiling as much as she could. "I just want you to…to know that."

He couldn't stop the sudden burn in his eyes, and tears collected rapidly at the edge of his eyelids. "I know, Megan. I'll always know that."

The curve of her lips widened ever-so-slightly, her dimples gently dipping into her cheeks.

"And Walter," she turned her gaze to her brother, wheezing heavily, "I wanted to tell you…to tell you…don't be…don't be…"

Walter's face seemed to pinch in concentration as he listened, patiently waiting for her to finish. _Hoping_ she would finish.

"Don't be afraid…" Her eyes grew heavier and heavier by the second, the telltale signs suddenly so clear. "Don't be afraid…"

She never did finish.

Her last wheeze slipped between her lips, long and slow. Her eyes softly came to a close, leaving a peaceful, empty expression on her face.

Immediately, Sylvester turned away, covering his mouth to quiet the sudden sobs that hit his chest. He tightly closed his eyes, hoping he could hold back the overwhelming onslaught of tears. He had made peace with her passing, but it didn't make it any less painful.

Suddenly remembering his friend and brother-in-law, Sylvester forced himself to turn back, despite his objections to the very idea. Blinking through the seemingly endless flow of salty moisture, Sylvester took a moment to appraise his leader.

Walter was simply staring at his sister, his eyes dull and his mouth slack. His face held no emotion, but his posture exuded defeat and overwhelming exhaustion. He looked ten years older in an instant, left behind by the one person that knew exactly how to make him feel better.

In seconds, activity seemed to burst into the room. Paige was already offering a comforting embrace to Sylvester while Toby immediately went to Walter's side. Doctors quietly and solemnly entered the room to turn off the machines, silently taking the appropriate notes before saying a few words to Cabe and leaving the team to mourn.

But, even as Sylvester was enveloped by Paige's warm hug, he thought about Walter. About those empty eyes and the tired slouch.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 _Author's Note: I just wanted to say…ImpalaLeoCap, when you posted your review presenting the notion of Megan's passing during this fic, I was so tempted to include a note on the following chapter and say, "Aye, I thought so too! Great minds think alike!" But, I didn't want to spoil anything at the time…So, I say it to you now! It's like you were reading my mind._


	8. The Cyclone

_Author's Note: Yo, yo, yo. This chapter is a bit shorter than some of the others, but it just felt right to be so. I know it ain't much, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thanks so much for reading, and please leave a review if you've got a moment._

 **8\. The Cyclone**

"Walt, buddy, say something," Toby coaxed, staring frightfully into Walter's eyes. He'd managed to tear Walter away from Megan's room and plop him down in some waiting room seat. It had taken awhile with Walter's bum leg, but Toby felt like it would be best to separate Walter from what had just happened. He just wanted to give Walt room to breathe. Room to process what had happened.

Crouched down, Toby could still hear Sylvester's sobbing down the hall.

"Come on, Walter. Just tell me what's going on in that big brain of yours," Toby pled, carefully watching the genius for any concerning signs.

Walter blinked slowly, his eyes sluggishly filling with tears. He slid his gaze to Toby's, his dark orbs vulnerable and confused.

"She's…gone?" Walter whispered, his voice somewhat strangled by his own emotions. Toby's own throat burned at the sound, and he blinked to discourage the threatening moisture.

"Yeah, buddy. She's…she's gone," he replied, managing to hold Walter's stare. No matter how painful it was, he wouldn't look away. He wouldn't abandon Walter like that.

But it was disturbing to see that look in the genius's eyes. Walter had always blatantly stated he had a low EQ, but to see the effects of the damn thing put it into perspective. Walter didn't know how to process emotion. When something as tragic as a death happened, Walter's brain didn't know what to do with the information; it didn't know how to help Walter feel better.

It explained why Walter sought out adrenaline rushes and risks after negative events. It seemed like distraction was the only thing Walter felt would work.

And, yet, Toby had a feeling Walter wasn't feeling up to an adrenaline rush right now. Not when he'd had one hell of one only a week and a half ago.

"Buddy, I know this is overwhelming, but I'm here to help you," Toby said gently. "I'm with you every step of the way. Just…tell me what I can do for you."

Walter's eyes dropped to the floor, his body weary and slumped in the seat. "I don't…" He shook his head a little, eyes growing blank. "I don't know."

Toby was still for a moment, simply looking into those dark, empty eyes. It was almost as if Walter had given up. Like his brain had simply shut down from too much strain.

Without a word, Toby pulled Walter into a hug. Toby wasn't really sure why he was doing it. Maybe it was because he was desperate. Maybe it was because he needed a hug of his own.

Or maybe it was because he was afraid they'd lost Walter forever.

Toby blinked back his tears, his lungs struggling for oxygen. What if they had really lost Walter? He didn't know what to do.

Hell, he didn't know what to do.

Walter was limp in his arms, emotionless and reactionless. It was as if he were dead, merely a hollow body with a beating heart.

Toby looked towards Megan's room, stiffening when he saw Happy standing frozen in the hallway. The expression on her face looked to be as close to heartbreak as Happy could manage: steeled against any emotion that might be lurking at the surface.

So, she saw it too.

Toby's chest seemed to constrict even more, knowing that he wasn't the only one that saw just how utterly hopeless the situation was becoming. Just how broken Walter was.

"Look, Walt," Toby mumbled, hoping that some part of Walter's lost brain was listening. "It's okay to grieve. Take your time, but…don't forget us. We're here for you. Whenever you need us, we're here for you." He paused for a moment, hugging the limp genius tighter. "Don't forget us. Don't leave us behind."

Of all the things Toby had seen in the last couple of weeks, nothing was more frightening than Walter's blank, emotionless eyes. Not the blood. Not the dead man. Nothing.

While Walter didn't often understand feelings, his eyes were always full of the emotions he didn't know he had. Toby could always tell when Walter was angry or upset, and he could always tell when the genius was happy and content. Walter's eyes were continuously bright and expressive, betraying just how much emotion he felt.

They were never blank. Not like this.

"Don't leave us behind," Toby whispered.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Happy stared at the damn desk. She hated that desk.

There was a time when she hardly cared about the stupid desk, not even thinking twice about it on any given day. Until Walter had driven his car off the road. Then the desk suddenly mattered. More importantly, it mattered that it was _empty._ It mattered that it was painfully neat and organized, gathering a fine layer of dust.

But, now, the desk meant something else entirely. It wasn't just empty; it was a constant, painful reminder of what had happened that night. Every time she looked at it, all she could think about was Walter, alone, tortured, and hopeless.

So, she hated that damn desk.

She turned away, stubborn eyes boring into the surface of her own desk. Happy hated that she didn't have much to offer in emotional support. Mostly, she was just angry. Angry that Megan had to be taken so early in life. Angry that Walter was targeted by the neighborhood torturer. Angry that she couldn't be more helpful.

She heaved a frustrated sigh, tracing the shape of one of her screwdrivers.

Happy could hear Paige in the depths of the garage, whispering words of comfort to Sylvester as they sat at the round table. She knew Cabe was with them, sitting as silent support while Paige's motherly instincts took over. Happy didn't really know why she wasn't there beside them. She probably should've been.

Toby was upstairs with Walter, trying to get the genius to grieve, to _react_. There was no doubt that Megan's passing had broken something within Walter, and Happy could tell Toby was terrified by the very prospect.

And, yet, Happy was just sitting here on her ass, at a loss of what to do.

She looked up when she heard Toby trotting down the stairs, absorbing the almost pained expression on the doc's face. Happy could tell he was trying to suppress his own fears, but he was failing miserably.

She stood up as he passed, receiving only a shake of his head before he promptly pushed out the front door. A breather, she realized. Toby just needed a breather to reign in his own floundering emotions.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she turned her gaze upstairs. Maybe she wasn't the comforting type. but when it came to emotions, she was more like Walter than most everyone else.

And maybe that was something he needed.

Without thinking it through, she pushed herself up the stairs. It didn't matter if she thought this could be a huge mistake. It didn't matter if she felt like running in the complete opposite direction. This was Walt, and she wasn't going to sit on her ass and wait for something to happen.

She bravely stepped forward, quickly coming closer to Walter's door. She stopped in front of it, inhaling deeply before lightly knocking on the door.

There was no response.

To hell with it, she was going in.  
Happy twisted the doorknob, pushing her way inside cautiously. The last thing she wanted to do was startle the genius.

"Walt?" she muttered, stepping inward. She stopped when her eyes fell on the team's leader, her chest oddly tight at the sight.

Walter sat alone on his bed, thin and pale. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, his head bowed timidly as he stared at the floor. No wonder Toby needed a moment to himself.

In an instant, Happy's reservations and fears fluttered away, replaced instead by fierce loyalty. She slowly moved towards him, calmly sinking into the spot beside him.

"It's tough, isn't it?" she asked gruffly, pushing her hands against her thighs as she straightened her arms. Walter didn't respond. "You and me…we don't really get all this complicated emotional stuff, I guess. We depend on logic. On facts."

Walter continued to stare at the floor, eyes empty.

"Emotions…they can't really be defined by logic and facts," she huffed. "They're unpredictable and inconsistent. They don't have a set solution, and they can be frustrating." She took a deep breath, letting out something between a growl and a sigh. For several seconds, she let the silence sit as she gathered her thoughts. "But they can also be terrifying because they can tear us apart and we…we don't know how to handle them."

For only an instant, Walter glanced in her direction, his brow furrowing.

"So, maybe you and me…maybe we don't get emotions. And maybe…maybe we'd rather do things ourselves," she muttered. "But, I think both of us have to remember that we can't always do everything ourselves. Sometimes, we need help figuring out what we can't understand." She turned her head a little to stare at Walter. "That's why Paige is on the team, isn't it?"

The quiet twisted between them, heavy and strong. It made Happy nervous, but she didn't say a word.

After a long while, Walter looked at her, those damn big, tired eyes wet with tears. "Maybe you're right," he croaked.

"Of course I'm right," Happy countered, softly punching his arm in an attempt to cut the thick atmosphere. He didn't react.

She hadn't really expected him to.

"Hey," she mumbled, her voice rough. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry about Megan." Her insides squirmed uncomfortably, unhappy with the weighty atmosphere. "I know what she meant to you."

There were a few beats of silence between them as a haze of sorrow seemed to settle around them. Walter took a few deep, calming breaths as tears rapidly gathered and spilled from his eyes. His face twisted into grief before he managed to cover his eyes with one hand.

"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered, his voice choked out by the overwhelming emotion.

Happy sat quietly for a moment, thinking of all the nightmares Walter had to face in two short weeks. "You're supposed to grieve," she said slowly with uncharacteristic softness. "You're supposed to let us help you. You're supposed to be with the people that care about you." It felt strange, those words coming out of her mouth. But they were true. If she'd learned anything from Toby and Paige, it was how important the team was for each other. How important it was to share the load.

How she and Walter should share how they felt and be open with everyone else so they wouldn't have to suffer alone.

Because they were a family. And a family couldn't bear watching one of their own endure tragedy alone.

Happy swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the burning in her own eyes. "Just tell us what you can't handle, and we'll do it for you."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Toby stood just outside the door, resting his head gently on the wall behind him. It was strange how many of Happy's words applied to himself. He'd taken it upon himself to shoulder Walter's burden alone, to help the genius whenever his aid was needed.

But this much hardship was better suited for a team. For a family. For people with different strengths and skills that wanted nothing more than to help each other.

Toby was going about this all wrong. He thought he was sparing everyone else, but in reality, he was just keeping Walter from his greatest support system.

And Toby was just making it harder for himself.

It was time for things to change.


	9. Determination

_Author's Note: Oh. My. Word. I'm sorry this took ages and ages. I rewrote this chapter probably five or six times, and just when I would thought I had it, my brain would tell me it wasn't right. I'm afraid I'm running out of juice on this story, but I'm not going to give it up. I'll finish it, even if it takes a few months._

 _I want to thank everyone for all the lovely reviews and kind words, and I also want to thank some of those reviewers that left delightful suggestions as to where this story should go. They were all fabulous ideas, but alas, while I'm struggling to write the tale, I still feel strongly that this is how the story should develop, and I have an idea of how it should end. Thanks again, everybody, and please leave a review if you have a second. Only a couple chapters left!_

 **9\. Determination**

He was finally asleep.

Paige let out a soft puff of air as she tenderly pulled the blanket over Walter's slender frame. He'd grown so thin. Paige's heart ached just thinking about it.

After Cabe left to take Sylvester home, Paige was a little surprised when Toby had asked for her help. Without hesitation, she arranged for Ralph to stay with Happy, eager to offer her assistance.

Her first task was to try and convince Walter to sleep, even if it was just for a little while. She still wasn't sure how she'd managed.

Paige watched Walter sleep for a couple minutes, silently wishing him peaceful dreams. Satisfied that he was getting proper rest for once, she reluctantly drifted away from his bedside, offering one last lingering stare before slipping out of the room.

She tried not to think about his abnormally pale complexion as she strode down the hall, but it kept floating to the forefront of her mind.

Paige let out a sigh and slowed as she entered the kitchen area, eyes immediately falling on the miserable psychiatrist. As his gaze met hers, she offered a small, comforting smile, gliding into the seat beside him.

"He's asleep," she reported, suddenly feeling tired. Toby nodded in response, saying nothing. For a while, the two of them sat in silence, their own thoughts swirling in their heads. It was strange, all of this. And it all began with one break in. With one lonely night.

Suddenly, Toby turned to Paige, his back straightening as he opened his mouth.

"I know I said it before, but I think we need to stop coddling him," he muttered, those large, half-lidded eyes watching her reaction. "I mean, we need to stop treating him like he's broken. He needs normalcy. He needs a recovery."

Paige nodded slowly, delicately combing through her thoughts. "And how do you suppose we do that?"

Toby quickly rubbed the back of his head, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I think we need to remind him there's still some good to look forward to," he sighed. "I've been so distracted with how…" He paused for a moment, clasping his hands together as his brow furrowed. He swallowed thickly. "I've been so distracted with how Megan's death would affect Walt that I haven't really been paying attention to what he needs and what the team needs. We're a cyclone, and I feel like I've been keeping everyone from doing their part."

Paige instantly realized what he meant, seeing the tender guilt in his soft eyes. He felt like he'd failed Walter; he felt like he'd failed the team. She shook her head, reaching a hand out to clasp both of his. "No, Toby, you shouldn't blame yourself for any of this. It's a difficult situation; no one was prepared for this."

Toby pressed his lips together, nodding shallowly. "You might be right, but I'm still determined to get us back on the right track." He sat back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh. "I recently realized that my degree isn't what's going to make Walter better. It's what everyone has to offer."

Paige frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Every one of us shares something different with Walter. With Sylvester, it's an affection for Megan. With Happy, it's that lack of emotional understanding. I think if we can all offer help and comfort in our own way, Walter may begin to see more improvement. Individually, we can help him with different aspects of his suffering, and collectively, we can support him as a whole."

Paige bit her lip and crossed her legs, letting her hands settle in her lap. "So, how do you suppose we remind him there's still some good to look forward to?"

Toby thought about it for a moment, his expression serious. "I think we need to go for a more…aggressive approach."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Happy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Team meetings already weren't her favorite, but team meetings about mushy, sensitive subjects made her itch.

Sure, she cared about Walter. But she didn't have to turn out her squishy innards to prove it.

"Alright, so we need to be a bit more…proactive," Toby announced, leaning heavily against his desk. Sly nodded eagerly while Cabe raised a curious brow.

With an uneasy jerk, Toby pushed away from his desk, pressing his hands together as he paced. "So far, we've been keeping something of a distance and waiting until Walter needed us." He paused, taking a deep breath before glancing at Paige. She smiled wanly, trying to push encouragement into the slight upturn of her lips.

"But, waiting for Walter to actually _admit_ he needs us is...a bit too optimistic," Toby huffed. "So, I propose that we remind him we're here for him. I say we stop hovering and start taking action."

"But everyone needs to participate," Paige interjected.

Happy frowned. "I thought doc had this handled."

Toby shook his head, huffing through his nose. "No, I…I realized that Walter needs…he needs to know that more than just one person cares. And I think all our unique perspectives can benefit Walter in different ways. I think that, collectively, we can be more effective. We can accommodate more of his needs as a team." Toby scratched at his stubble. "I mean, my education can do me a lot of good, but Walter needs to know that he can depend on any of us, and he needs to understand that we still value him and appreciate him. He needs to know that what happened to him hasn't damaged our relationships with him."

Happy watched Paige nod from the corner of her eye, and she found herself strangely trusting the gesture.

"So, just help him in your own way," Paige added, folding her arms nervously across her chest. "Be yourself, and if he doesn't respond well, then try again the next day. Just…be a friend. And be open with the rest of us. Tell us if you notice something new or have an idea. I mean, five heads are better than one, right? We work better as a team, don't we?"

Cabe glanced down at the floor, following the thin crack in the concrete before glancing back up again. "Sounds like a plan."

Sylvester nodded from his seat, wide eyes glancing between Paige and Toby.

Happy looked at Sly and Cabe and sighed heavily, dropping her shoulders. "Yeah, sure, I'm in."

With a heaving chest, Toby let out an anxious sigh. The plan was now in motion, and for now, they could only hope for the best.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"No, you're going to eat more than a spoonful," Paige pressed, offering Walter that expectant smile of hers. "You don't have to finish it, but at least try to eat more than that."

Walter was slumped at the kitchen table, staring down at his bowl of soup with tired eyes. Paige's spirit broke a little at the sight, but she wouldn't relent. She'd promised Toby she wouldn't surrender to her softer side. Well, not completely.

"Just a little more, Walter," she coaxed. "You need to build up your strength."

"I don't like soup," he mumbled. She could tell that he was trying his best to fight his grief, even if he failed most of the time. Still, the very effort dared Paige to hope.

"I know, I know…You'd rather have fermented fish," Paige countered softly. "But you haven't been eating much these past two weeks, so soup it is." He wearily dug the spoon into the broth, scooping up a few soft vegetables. She smiled.

"Try to eat at least five more spoonfuls," she instructed, standing from her seat. "I'm going to check on Ralph, and when I come back, I expect to see progress."

Walter wanted to smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.

As he listened to her heels clack away, he was tempted to pour some of the soup down the sink to make her think he'd been eating it. But, that would take more effort than his injured leg was willing to give, and he wasn't exactly fond of lying to her, especially when she was trying so hard to convince him to eat.

But he wasn't hungry. Whenever he closed his eyes, he'd see splattered water or the ghostly white face of his sister. It was enough to keep his appetite at bay. Indefinitely.

As he forced another spoonful of soup into his mouth, Happy's words echoed in his mind. He'd been trying to be more dependent on his teammates, but it was difficult. He didn't want them to see his weakness; he didn't want them to see just how vulnerable he was.

But he'd quickly realized that being alone produced unfavorable results. In the solitude of his room, his thoughts always turned to darkness, which quickly pushed him further into despair and grief.

While he was doing fairly well accepting help, he still had a hard time asking for it. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps it was shame. Either way, any request for help would stick in his throat, unmoving.

It was quickly becoming a frustration.

Walter watched the spoon slip beneath the murky broth, hunting for softened carrots and celery. He'd eat them for Paige.

And he'd eat them for Megan.

He paused in his movements, allowing a few minutes of reverent remembrance. She'd want him to recover. But that didn't make it any easier.

"Walter?"

Walter's body buzzed at the voice, his eyes slowly sliding up to meet Sylvester's. His heart beat heavily against his chest as his stomach swirled uncomfortably. He put the spoon down.

"Hey," he managed, the single word coming out rough and quiet. For a few seconds, he dared to forget his own grief, even if it was for a brief moment. "How are you, Sly?" The question sounded strained and forced, but Walter was moderately pleased it had come out at all.

Sylvester looked a bit surprised by the question, moving towards the table with slow, careful movements. Walter noticed that his eyes were red and swollen, but chose not to say anything about it. Sly had always been sensitive.

Perhaps that's what Megan loved about him.

The thought hit Walter in the gut, and he immediately regretted eating soup at all.

"I'm…I'm okay," Sylvester answered, sliding quietly into a seat. "I wasn't entirely unprepared for…for this."

Walter nodded, trying to swallow past the swirling nausea.

"To be honest, I'm more worried about you," Sylvester confessed, his gentle gaze immediately appraising his friend.

"I'm…" Walter quickly stopped himself. He wasn't fine. He shouldn't say he was fine. He cleared his throat. "I'm still trying to…cope." The last word felt strange in his mouth. Out of place. Unnatural.

Sylvester looked a little caught off guard by Walter's honest answer, trying to force his surprise behind an understanding expression.

Walter pushed the soup away, watching the broth softly slosh against the sides of the bowl. "I should've been more for her."

Sylvester's expression sharply changed to one of complete rejection. "Walter, Megan never thought poorly of you. She loved you. You meant everything to her."

Walter closed his eyes, wearily rubbing at them as he slowly inhaled through his nose. "I know," he muttered.

Sylvester shifted a little in his seat, desperate to offer some kind of comfort. His heart ached for his late wife, but it seemed to ache more for his suffering brother-in-law. At least Megan had been taken to a happier place.

Walter seemed destined to endure his own living hell.

Sylvester felt the familiar burn of tears in his eyes as he thought of Megan. She would know what to say. She had known Walter better than anyone else.

So, he prayed for her guidance. He prayed that she'd give him the words Walter needed.

"Walter," he huffed, leaning forward a bit. His mind frantically gathered his thoughts, hoping to convey the level of respect and loyalty he had for Scorpion's leader. "Megan knew what she meant to you. You visited her every week, and you desperately fought to cure her. You wanted to make her whole. She understood what that meant. She understood the message your actions expressed. Megan didn't want you to be more for her because she recognized just how fiercely you loved her.

"She knew you didn't want to let her go. She understood how painful all of this was for you." Sylvester blinked back a few tears as he sniffled. "Don't ever think you weren't enough for her because Megan believed you were the best, most loving brother anyone could've had."

Wet, black orbs stared back at him, Walter's dark eyebrows furrowed in subtle grief. Walter glanced down at his lap before returning his stare to the human calculator.

"Thank you, Sylvester," he croaked, closing his eyes for a few seconds before dropping his gaze to his knees. "Thank you."

Sylvester let a few minutes of silence drift between them, a few old memories pressing against the front his mind.

"I remember," he began slowly, his eyes tracing the lip of the soup bowl. "I remember being alone and scared in a dirty hotel room, thinking that it was the end. And when a forensic analyst from the bank knocked on my door, I was sure it was over. But instead of turning me in, he helped me. He accepted me for what I was and gave me a home. He gave me a family."

Walter looked up at him, his tired eyes glistening in the late morning sun.

"No matter what you think, Walter, you're a better person than most. And that's what Megan saw. That's what I see."

Walter quickly looked away, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He was sure that with everything that had happened with Megan, Sylvester would think the worst of him. He was certain Sylvester would think him callous and uncaring.

And knowing he didn't…it offered a comfort Walter wasn't sure he deserved.

"Don't focus on what you didn't do for her, Walter," Sylvester mumbled. "Focus on what you _did_ do for her. You did so much more than I think you realize."

The remaining blankness in Walter's stare seemed to crumble away, and a soft, vulnerable emotion began to seep into his dark orbs. The genius pressed his fingers into his eyes, overcome by a fresh wave of emotion.

Sylvester felt a dark burn in his chest, a sliver of pride and satisfaction shining through the agony. He could see it. He could see a fraction of Walter's burden drifting away, forgotten in the empty shadows of the garage. Through some miracle, Sylvester had done for Walter what Walter had done for him so many years ago. Sylvester had raised Walter from the ashes, even if it was only by an inch.

Sylvester's mind wandered to Megan's bright face, framed by soft, dark locks. She would be so proud of him, and that gave Sylvester comfort.

But more importantly, Megan would be thankful.

He could almost feel her overwhelming gratitude drifting warmly through his chest, twisting and turning around his limbs as it completely enveloped him. It brought tears to his eyes and a tender peace to his mind.

And somehow, Sylvester believed it would all be okay. Walter would heal. His wounds would leave permanent scars, but he would find his strength again, and he would overcome the lingering trials.

Even if Walter did stumble, there would always be someone there to pick him back up.

There would always be someone.


	10. The Wisdom of the Young

_Author's Note: Another chapter! Huzzah! Welp, I decided to include Ralph in this chapter, since I had something of a request for it. I find it difficult to write Ralph because he doesn't really have much of a personality in the show. He doesn't say much, and when he does, there's not much there to illustrate his personality. So, I did my best. It took me a long time to write, rewrite, and revise this chapter, even though it's not all that long. But I wanted Ralph to be just right...like how I would imagine him to be in a situation like this. Anyway, I hope this chapter tickles your fancy, and leave a review if you can! Thanks, all, for your patience and constant support!_

 **10\. The Wisdom of the Young**

Ralph covertly watched his mother as she passed by. She looked worn, sliding a free hand through her hair. As she disappeared into the back room, Ralph gazed up at the stairs.

He knew Walter was up there. The genius hadn't set a foot downstairs in a couple days, and Ralph knew he wasn't about to.

While the cyclone did an excellent job challenging Ralph mentally and helping him grow, he noticed they often shielded him emotionally. He didn't know all the details, but he'd known that someone had broken in and hurt Walter.

He could still recall the way his mother's voice shook as she told him, gently urging him to get dressed to go to the hospital, and he remembered feeling scared and angry at the same time. He couldn't understand why a stranger would want to hurt Walter, and for the last couple of days, Ralph couldn't understand why his mom wouldn't let him see the older genius. Certainly, he could help Walter. They could figure it out together.

However, Ralph didn't really know what was wrong. No one had taken the time to explain Walter's injuries to him, and he hadn't been there when Megan had died.

All he knew was that Walter was hurting. In more ways than one.

Looking to the back room, Ralph waited for his mother's return, only to hear the fridge pop open. He turned his stare to the stairs, his mind racing and his blood pumping.

He had to. They were a cyclone.

Quietly, he slipped from his seat, stepping silently across the floor. His mom couldn't find out. He already knew she would discourage him from seeing Walter, as she had so many times before.

Still keeping an eye out for his mother, he ascended the steps, listening for the older genius.

When he made it to the top, Walter wasn't at the table or on the couch. But Ralph was determined, and there was only one other place the older genius would be.

He treaded carefully towards the bedroom, eyes glued to the open door. Ralph slowed as he approached, pausing as he reached the doorframe.

And then there was Walter.

Dark eyes were staring at the floor, watching the unseen nightmares of the past. And even though Ralph wasn't quite as well-versed in human emotion as other people, he could see the pain and sorrow. And he could see that Walter was struggling to understand it himself.

"Walter?" he called softly, taking a small step into the room. Slowly, Walter came back to the present, eyes drifting up to meet young, green ones. His brow furrowed.

"Ralph?"

Ralph bravely walked in, taking a place beside Walter on the bed. "My mom wouldn't let me see you."

Walter was quiet for a moment, silently absorbing the small statement. "Yeah, I'm…I'm not at my best right now." The two of them sat wordlessly beside each other, Walter's gaze on the floor while Ralph's was on the team leader.

"I want to help you," Ralph announced suddenly, sitting up a little straighter. "Like how the cyclone helps me when I have a problem I can't solve on my own."

The gesture left a bittersweet taste in Walter's mouth, and his chest filled with something akin to appreciation for Ralph and disappointment in himself. Wasn't he supposed to be the one helping Ralph? Even though Ralph's mental capacity was above most people's, he was still a child. And no child should be exposed to this kind of pain and darkness. Even one that was more familiar with risks and danger than he should be.

"How did he hurt you?" Ralph asked, intelligent eyes watching the older genius.

For the first time in a long while, Walter didn't know how to answer Ralph. He didn't know if he _should_ answer Ralph. But glancing at the boy's eyes, Walter could tell the Ralph was determined, and he wouldn't back down until he felt he'd contributed.

"He…exposed many of my vulnerabilities," Walter muttered, thinking of how he could protect Ralph from knowing just how sickening the torture was. "He…reminded me how fragile the human body is, and he forced me to feel…real fear."

Ralph listened intently, the cogs clicking in his head. "Are you sad that Megan's gone?"

The question hit Walter square in the chest, forcing a puff of air from his nose. The wounds from his torture were deep, but they felt old compared to the damage done by Megan's passing. "She was important to me," he answered simply, looking down at the floorboards. The injury in his abdomen throbbed, but he ignored it.

Ralph traced the tired, pained lines on Walter's face, and he noticed the way the older genius gingerly shifted on the bed. He was in a lot of pain. Similar to the time he'd driven off a cliff.

But there was more to that, and Ralph knew it. And he wasn't sure there was a solution to this.

Ralph looked down, his thoughts spinning as he thought of what to do. He wasn't very good with the emotional side of things; clearly, that's where his mother excelled. But he wanted to try. For Walter. Because Walter meant that much to him.

He twisted in his seat, staring intently at the cyclone leader.

"I may not be able to provide a solution, but I'd like to offer my support," Ralph stated, watching as despondent dark eyes shifted to him. "I don't…" He looked away briefly, attempting to gather the right words. "I don't want you to hurt anymore." He turned back to Walter. "You said that man exposed all your vulnerabilities. What can I do to remind you of your strength?"

Walter was puzzled by Ralph's question. He hadn't thought of his situation in that way before. He was so focused on how he had failed. And he was sure that no one on the team, Ralph included, could have the same confidence in him they had before.

Everyone had tried to tell him that he couldn't be blamed for what happened. They'd tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault and that his vulnerabilities from that night were dismissible.

But Ralph didn't try and push aside Walter's weaknesses like everyone else. Ralph acknowledged their existence and instead offered a different idea: that one can be both vulnerable and strong. That to overcome weaknesses, one simply had to focus on their more resilient traits and rediscover confidence in themselves.

The notion seemed to nudge Walter's mind in a different direction. It left an impression. And yet, he didn't know where to begin.

"I don't know all the details, but I'm certain that if there were more you could've done, you would have done it," Ralph supposed. "And if you were afraid, I don't believe your fear originated from inconsequential experiences." He continued to gaze at Walter, blinking occasionally. "What can I do to remind you of your strength?"

Walter turned his stare back to the floor, unsure of how to answer. He didn't want Ralph to know how truly horrifying the ordeal had been; he didn't want the boy to know just how cruel and damaging humans could be to each other. Fire and bullets were one thing, but waterboarding and slow torture were another.

"I'm not entirely sure," he confessed, furrowing his brow. He wished he had more to offer Ralph, but it was difficult to advise someone else on how to help when he didn't know how to help himself.

Silence settled between them, empty and sorrowful. Ralph couldn't quite understand it, but he knew it weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he felt an odd, panicked fluttering in his chest when he looked at Walter. The man was slowly being swallowed by his own loss and pain, and Ralph wasn't certain on what to do next. But maybe he didn't have to be certain. Maybe he should take a page from his mom's book and simply go with what he felt would help.

Perhaps he should just say what he's wanted to say for weeks.

"I'm here for support," Ralph announced, an odd emotion niggling in his mind. "I know I'm just a kid, and I know you guys think I need protecting. But I want to help. I want to be there for you like everyone else because I value your presence in my existence, and I…" He paused, specific words rolling around his head. His mom said it all the time, and Ralph was certain he understood what it meant because he felt the same affection and attachment for Walter as he did for his mom. He could say it. He could. "I love you, Walter."

Walter turned to him then, appraising him with those curious, dark eyes, something deep and vulnerable in his gaze. And Ralph knew, without a word from Walter, that the older genius felt the same. They were family, and somewhere over the last couple of years, the two of them had formed a nigh unbreakable bond. Ralph didn't want it to fade away. He didn't want Walter to fade away.

"I want you to be satisfied with yourself and your situation. I want you to be…happy." Ralph wiped quickly at his eyes, eager to rid his face of tears. He didn't quite know why he was crying, and the whole situation frustrated him.

Warm, long arms suddenly encircled him, pulling him closer to the older genius. Part of Ralph panicked that this would aggravate Walter's injuries, but the other part guiltily craved the attention, melting into Walter's embrace as he wrapped his own small arms around Scorpion's leader.

"Thank you, Ralph," Walter hummed quietly. His voice sounded different, and Ralph dared to hope, even if such an action was against everything he understood.  
He just didn't want to lose Walter.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Paige stood silently outside of Walter's room, blinking back tears of her own. When she'd seen Ralph's empty chair, she knew immediately where he'd gone. He'd been asking to see Walter regularly, and even when he was quiet and working on his homework, she knew what weighed heavily on his mind.

She'd panicked slightly that Ralph's involvement would end badly. She'd thought Ralph wouldn't understand the gravity of the situation and that he wouldn't know how to cope with Walter's obvious struggling.

But she'd been wrong.

She was always surprised by the depth of understanding Walter and Ralph had for one another. The other geniuses had a knack for interpreting all things Ralph, but Walter excelled more than anyone else. And Ralph, from the very beginning, had taken a liking to Walter, and the two of them had been thick as thieves ever since.

And after hearing Ralph's heartfelt declaration of love and adoration, Paige realized Ralph needed Walter as much as Walter needed Ralph right now. Walter regularly encouraged Ralph to be better and aim higher, but she'd be a fool if she didn't admit how much Walter protected and nurtured her son. Granted, it was in a strange genius-to-genius sort of way, but it worked, and she felt like it gave Walter a sense of purpose.

Even now, when it seemed like Walter had given up on everything, Ralph gave him something to focus on. Something to be strong for.

She blinked to clear the moisture in her eyes, taking a quiet, deep breath. Mustering up her last bit of strength, she stepped into the doorway.

"There you are, Ralph," she sighed, smiling softly as the two broke away from their embrace. "I told you not to bother Walter." There was no real reprimand in her voice, but she could still see a hint of mild guilt pooled in Ralph's eyes.

"I…I wanted to help Walter," he stated courageously, sitting up straighter.

"He wasn't…he wasn't a nuisance," Walter muttered quietly, glancing up at her before averting his gaze. The very action broke her a little as she thought of his once determined, stubborn stare.

Paige watched Walter for a little while, unsure of what she was looking for. Perhaps a sign of improvement. Perhaps a hint for how to help him further.

"I know," she whispered, the corners of her lips curving upward in a sad smile. Paige remained silent for several minutes as her mind twisted and tumbled around itself. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts together before settling her eyes on Walter.

Maybe letting the two of them talk wouldn't be so terrible.

Her eyes traced the dark circles under Walter's eyes, but she made no mention of them as she addressed the cyclone leader. "Get some rest, Walter. I'll send Ralph up for a visit when you've had a little sleep."

Ralph allowed himself a small smile, pleased by his mother's change of heart. Even Walter's demeanor brightened at the prospect.

Paige gently urged Ralph downstairs and watched as her son reluctantly left the room. She looked back at Walter, her heart leaping when dark eyes bravely stared back. Right in her eyes. Just like the old Walter.

Her smile widened. "Get some sleep, Walter."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Paige let out a sigh as she stepped off the bottom stair step. She dared to feel a little lighter, and she allowed herself an inkling of hope. Seeing a glimpse of a stronger Walter gave her something to hold onto. Something to make all this heartache worth it.

Paige looked up from the bottom of the stairs, pausing when she saw Happy standing in front of Walter's desk, staring the thing down with as much venom as the petite woman could muster.

"What's going on, Happy?" Paige asked, stepping slowly towards her teammate.

"I hate this damn desk," Happy muttered, folding her arms irritably. "I think it's time we got rid of it."

Paige looked down at the bit of furniture, her eyes immediately drifting to the stain on the floor. "Yeah…I…I guess that's a good idea." Most of the time, she avoided the area, reluctant to acknowledge any reminders of what happened to Walter. Not that it helped.

"I think I know just what to do with it," Happy huffed, her gaze narrowing.

Paige turned her gaze to the engineer, frowning. "And…what do you have in mind?"


	11. New Beginnings

_Author's Note: 'Tis finally finished. I know this took me forever to wrap up and write, and I apologize from the very bottom of my heart. It's been a very, very hard year for me, and while I usually turn to writing for relief and joy, I've been so stressed and overwhelmed that I didn't even have a will to write. But thank you all for being so patient and so kind. You're all wonderful human beings, and I wish you all the best all the time. Thanks for reading! And thanks again for your patience._

 **11\. New Beginnings**

"Heya, Walt."

Walter looked up from his plate of chicken and vegetables, unsurprised to see Toby's goofy grin.

"I'm happy to see you've graduated from soup," Toby continued, motioning to the plate of food in front of Walter. It was hardly touched, but Walter was trying.

The Irish genius frowned. "You were the one to suggest I eat heartier…foods…" He narrowed his eyes, carefully watching Toby. "What's…going on?"

Toby's eyebrows shot up as he stood straighter. "Why do you think something's up? Who said something was up?"

Walter sighed, putting down his fork. "You're acting strange, even for you. And your voice is unusually high for a casual visit."

Toby dropped his shoulders, but his smile remained as he slid into the seat across from Walter. He put his arms on the tabletop, leaning forward with a hopeful gleam in his eye. "Look, buddy. It's been kind of…weird without you down on the ground floor. The team really misses having you around, and I think getting back into the swing of things might really help your recovery."

"But I'm recovering fine," Walter argued, his expression darkening. Sure, it was a slow process, but he was starting to eat a little, and he was beginning to feel a little better, albeit a slight improvement.

"Well…in some areas, yes. But, Walt, you and I both know there's something holding you back. Something you don't want to face."

Walter shook his head, desperate to put a stop to this discussion. "No, Toby, no-"

"I know you're scared to go down there. I know you're scared to face what happened there because the garage has always been a safe place for you."

"Toby, I don't-"

"Walter." Walter stopped at Toby's firm voice, looking up at the shrink reluctantly. "Do you trust me?"

The words were out of Walter's mouth before he could even think them through. "Of course I trust you."

"Then let me help you. Let the team help you. You can trust me. You can trust _us_."

Walter watched him for a while, absorbing the positive glint in Toby's eyes.

Toby smiled softly. Encouragingly. "Come downstairs with me."

Walter took a deep breath, eyes tracing the wood grain in the table. He gave himself a minute to mull the idea over. To determine if he could do this. For a second, he wasn't sure. Then he looked at Toby, and he felt a small surge of courage. "Okay." His voice came out as almost a whisper, quiet and resigned as it drifted through the kitchen.

Toby's smile widened. "Let's do this, buddy."

Walter slowly stood from his seat, already dreading what was ahead. He knew it had something to do with the team. This certainly explained all the shuffling and activity earlier in the day. Normally his curiosity would get the best of him and he'd peek downstairs. But these days, even curiosity had abandoned him.

He felt Toby's hand grip his arm, acting as an almost grounding force as they moved slowly towards the stairs. Walter could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and he had half a mind to abort the whole idea. But for whatever reason, he stuck with Toby, all the way to the top of the stairs.

For a moment, he couldn't bring himself to look down. His eyes were transfixed to the top of the wall, clinging desperately to the neutral area. But when he felt Toby nudge him, he forced his gaze downwards, suddenly terrified of what he would find.

But his desk was gone.

In its place was a brand new desk, unmarred and gleaming. The color and shape was similar to the last desk, and to any outsider, it would look nearly the same as its predecessor. But it wasn't _the_ desk. Instead of nightmares and dark memories, this desk offered a fresh start, as if waiting for the first dent or scratch.

And there was a new chair.

"What…" Walter stopped and pressed his lips together, bewildered by the bloom of relief in his chest. The creeping nausea lessened, and the rising panic receded. He still felt unsafe, but he no longer had to stare the worst night of his life right in the face.

Toby's hand tightened around his arm, breaking Walter from his thoughts.

"What do you think?"

Walter shook his head, unsure what to say. Toby smiled.

"Come on. Why don't we try going downstairs?"

The dark-haired genius swallowed past the lump in his throat but agreed anyway. They took the stairs slowly to allow Walter time to adjust, and the rest of the team quietly gathered in the common area, slipping from the shadows and crevices.

Toby and Walter stepped off the last step, quietly joining everyone else. "The team wanted to help, and Happy had an idea that I think you'll appreciate," Toby explained, his voice strangely calm. Cabe offered Walter a small nod, and Sylvester merely beamed in happy silence.

"And we want you to know that we're here for you," Paige added, offering a friendly smile as she hugged Ralph to her side.

"Thank you," Walter replied timidly, feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

Happy crossed her arms, taking a deep breath. "Don't thank us yet," she huffed. "First, I think it's time for a drive."

Walter looked a little confused, but at Toby's silent invitation, he was guided out of the garage into the team's SUV. He was sat between Paige and the team shrink, both looking happier and more hopeful than they had in weeks.

It made him suspicious.

Still, he decided he would wait. Mostly because trying to guess without much to go on seemed like a waste of brain power.

Truthfully, Walter was pretty pleased with his recovery. Sure, it was slow and the nightmares had yet to leave him alone, but he felt better and stronger every day. And when he felt himself slipping down into darker depths, he just thought of Ralph's words. Of his own strengths.

His steady improvement had also spurred his team into lighter spirits. Even Happy was uncharacteristically more cheerful than usual, as unlikely as it seemed. And yet, the roadblocks were plentiful. For every two steps forward, he took a step back.

But things were finally looking up, and maybe in another week or two, the team would take on cases again. Maybe they could return to some semblance of their life before the incident.

Walter took a deep breath, staring straight ahead as they sped off to their destination. As usual, Cabe was driving with Sylvester in the passenger seat, and Happy and Ralph were sitting quietly in the back. Despite the silence, it felt comfortable. It felt right.

For the most part, no one spoke, aside from the small whispers here and there. But the air seemed to crackle with excitement, and Walter was itching to know what was going on.

After nearly forty-five minutes, ten of which were spent rolling over bumpy gravel roads, they finally stopped. The location was simply a wide, dug out plot of land, expanding over a massive area. Briefly, Walter wondered why so much dirt had been cleared away. It could have been for mining or possibly a new landfill. It probably wasn't all that important.

"What exactly are we doing here?" Walter asked, peering through the windshield with a little uncertainty.

Toby grinned and patted Walter on the shoulder. "Showing your troubles who's boss, my friend."

Walter frowned as the vehicle started moving again, making its way down into the giant, flat hole.

As they moved, Walter spotted a strangely familiar shape in the distance. When they moved closer, he knew exactly what sat in the empty expanse.

"Is that…" He paused to collect himself. "Is that my desk…and chair?"

It made him sick just to look at them. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, cutting off his oxygen and freedom.

"Hey, hey, Walt. Relax," Toby encouraged, squeezing Walter's arm as they slowed to a stop. Walter did his best to suppress the rising panic and terror, but his mild paralysis made it difficult to get out of the car on his own. Paige ended up stepping in to help.

The team gathered a couple hundred feet from the desk and chair, watching Walter with optimism weaved into every expression, despite his paling features. Happy moved to stand beside Walter, placing a hand on his forearm.

"I rigged the stupid things to explode," she muttered, abruptly placing a small device in his hand. "Figured obliterating the damn desk and your chair would help you start fresh. You know, like fighting back."

Walter looked down at his hand, his eyes combing over the graceful design of an explosive trigger. A small plastic cap covered a single red button, and all Walter had to do was flip up the cap and press down.

He just had to flip up the cap and press down, and he'd never have to think of that desk again. He'd never have to look at the chair that kept him there.

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and looked to see Paige beside him. She smiled encouragingly, staring directly into his eyes. "Whenever you're ready, Walter."

He took a moment to let it sink in.

While blowing up two pieces of furniture seemed trivial and strange, the very notion gave Walter a sense of power. He could control the ending of this whole ordeal.

Simply knowing he could choose meant everything to him. It reminded him of how capable he really was.

And without such reminders holding him back, he'd get back on his feet to do what he did best: solve problems.

Walter flipped the plastic cap, exposing the red button underneath. Bravely, he stared at the desk and chair, as if soaking them in before their execution.

Then he pressed the button.

Both pieces of furniture exploded into the tiniest of flecks and chips. Wood and plastic sprayed across the dirt, charred and destroyed. He'd never see them whole again.

And that very idea empowered Walter.

He looked at his team as they clapped and cheered, absorbing their grins and laughter. Honestly, it'd been far too long since he'd seen them so happy.

He smiled. For real this time.

Walter was feeling better already.


End file.
